I Really Hate Fishing…

Did you think you would ever see that on a fishing blog?

Not fly fishing, mind you… I absolutely love that. I really hate fishing with a spinning rod.

Over the last couple weekends, I have volunteered to help teaching fishing at some youth fishing events. I myself am not a Nebraska Youth Fishing Instructor, but one of my coworkers is; and he always asks if I can lend a hand when he helps out with stuff. At this rate I might as well just take the course…

However, I digress.

At these fishing clinics, the fishing instructors involved have fishing equipment provided by the State Of Nebraska Youth Fishing Program. Basic push button spinning rods, bobbers, split shots, and worms with a hook. A simply and effective recipe for kids and beginners.

My role is to help teach the basics of fishing to those who attend. Mostly small children and parents who have never fished much. We teach them how to bait a hook, how to tie knots to hold the hooks on… and probably most importantly to sit and watch the bobber until it goes under the water.

Sit and watch it…

Sit and watch…

And watch… Ugh.

I love watching the little kids get excited when they catch a fish; or adults watch in amazement as I do simply things like tie an improved clinch knot. But I was struck by the realization as I sat on the rip rap of Bowling Lake with a 4 year old girl and her mom that I really really hate sitting and watching a bobber.

And the fish were even biting well that day. Even the 4 year old girl caught a couple bluegills…

As I discovered fly fishing, one of the things that drew me into the sport was how active it was. Casting a fly rod alone is a huge production. Not using live bait means I don’t need to drag along a cooler with me; and thus, I don’t feel the need to bring along drinks and snacks. Or near as much gear. Or a chair in a bag…

Even though I resemble a power line utility man with all my gear hanging off my fly fishing vest, I am surprisingly mobile. I can move with ease around the lake. The fish aren’t biting? That’s fine, I will keep moving until I find where they are hiding.

And even if the fish are not biting, I am still active with the cast, move, cast action of working down the bank. I can cover the bank of 60 acre lakes in a matter of a couple hours.

If I do not start catching fish, it because the fish are not biting.

Now back at these youth fishing events, I am held down to one spot. Staring at a bobber.

It makes me appreciate fly fishing that much more.

But the kids get super excited when they catch their fish. Their parents take lot of pictures. I don’t know how many pictures I am in with random kids holding their fish because they are too scared to touch it.

At least that makes it all worth it.

Intermission

I have a couple of blog posts fermenting in my head, but they are not quite ready yet… It has been a long week here at Flies Over, keeping up with all of the excitement.

I have barely been able to keep up with the fishing!

A couple of quick updates for this “intermission”… I managed to cross off two of my 2013 fishing goals in the last week.

First, I managed to catch a bass on my TenkaraUSA rod. I ended catching four of them on this trip, so I blew this goal out of the water. Next…

I caught a bass on my 3 weight rod. Not the biggest bass, but one none the less. Two goals can now be crossed off my list. These goals were not set real high; I sent goals across the spectrum of difficulty. Crossing a couple off early is a great way to get off to a good start!

Also, this wasn’t a goal, but I did manage to catch my first green sunfish of the year on Friday night.

They don’t get real big (this is about the biggest I see) and they are not difficult to catch; but they are a pretty fish. I don’t ever go fishing for them, they are just a pleasant surprise while bluegill fishing…

Enjoy the pictures during the “Flies Over” intermission… as I get the next couple blog posts worked out in my head.

And welcome to my new readers! There has been a steady stream since I have been Freshly Pressed!

E

“You’re Really Good At Weeds, Daddy!”

For the record, I am pretty good at catching fish too…

I can’t think of a better way to introduce my new readers to Flies Over Nebraska then a story about Little E. I generally fly fish alone. I enjoy the solitude and the serenity. But if I ever do go with a partner, it’s my 2 1/2 year old…

Lately Little E has been mommy’s girl. She hasn’t wanted anything to do with her daddy. To give my wife some time to work on her projects, I decided Little E and I should head to the lake for some daddy-daughter fishing.

She screamed the whole way to the lake for her mommy… But we she got to the water and saw all the dandy lions to pick, she turned around.

And after daddy caught his first fish…

Little E was right by my side to hold and pet the fish. She is getting pretty good at identifying fish too; and correctly identified this fish as a bass.

My first one on my Tenkara rod for the record.

It’s sometimes difficult to keep young children entertained between fish bites, but Little E always finds a way. Finding sticks, collecting snail shells, picking dandy lions… and filling daddy’s pockets full of all of these “treasures” to take home to mommy.

Lately we have enjoyed touching the water…

And of course picking up the mud while mocking daddy with the mess. Not to mention the trouble he will be in with mommy when we get home.

But when that next fish comes to hand, Little E is always right there with daddy; with a world’s worth of wonder in her eyes.

She loves to pet the “shishes”, and see them splash. And lately, we have enjoyed letting them go. She likes to see them scurry away, and splash her as they slip back into the water…

Isn’t that last one the cutest catch and release picture you have ever seen?

As an angler, there is nothing that makes me happier than Little E taking the greatest pleasure in watching her trophy swim away…

And then asking daddy to catch another one. She’s got the angling bug already.

A few weeks ago, Little E was with me when I hooked into a fish and my line broke off. For weeks she has been taking about “That big shishy that took daddy’s fly”. I told her that we would catch that fish and get our fly back.

Right at the end of our trip, we hooked into a nice little bass.

Little E immediately deemed it the fish that stole daddy’s fly. Redemption was completed; even though there was no fly to reclaim… other then the one I caught him with. Who cares that I had no idea what kind of fish even took that fly weeks ago…

Little E was not mad at our menacing, “fly-stealing”, large fish. We caught it, and that was enough. The only thing left to do was let it go.

I couldn’t ask for a better fishing buddy.

That is until our short attention span get distracted by an endless field of dandy lions; far as our little eyes can see…

Freshly Pressed!

I received the email yesterday afternoon! I can’t say that I ever expected to see a fishing blog freshly pressed…

I will do my best to respond to all the comments; but I do have a day job that demands my attention, so my replies will be delayed until this evening.

But first, of course, I need to write the obligatory thank you post.

I would like to thank Michelle at Freshly Pressed for deeming my post, “The One Who Got Away”, worthy of the honor.

And thank you for those of you who are new to the blog…

I write this blog not as a “how to fish” blog; but to share what fly fishing means to me. Since the first time that I saw fly fishing up close, I was memorized by it. The look, the beauty, the action… This blog is my attempt to share in the magic I feel every time I pick up a fly rod and cast a fly into Nebraska’s waters.

I don’t live in your typical fly fishing paradise… In eastern Nebraska there are no blue ribbon trout streams, no majestic mountains, no streams to stand in the middle of and recreate “A River Runs Through It”.

And that is the way I like it.

The fact of the matter is that you do not need these things to fly fish. I open water fly fish on lakes for fish that are found in every part of the country. Bass, Bluegill, Crappie… and the occasional road trip to an actual trout stream. You can fly fish any where, and share in the magic too.

I hope my blog inspires someone, somewhere to pick up a fly rod and feel the same magic that I do.

Or at the very least, that you find your “fly fishing” and share it with the world too.

Little E and I are very proud to welcome you to Flies Over Nebraska… this is our journey through fly fishing; A father and his two year old who enjoy every step of the journey.

We hope you enjoy it too.

E

The One That Got Away

Every fisherman has this story… now I do too.

Fishing Wildwood Lake Tuesday was a great experience. Not too breezy, not too sunny. Alone on my float tube, I slowly worked down the bank; casting to shore and slowly pulling the line back in. The only sounds were those of the lake, the chirp of a song birds, the occasional cacophony of geese across the lake, and the occasional splashing of a crappie or bluegill pulled to hand.

Nirvana.

Exactly why I enjoy about being on the water.

Until one cast; which was not unlike any other of that day. That is until the gentle tug at the end of the line.

Even the strike was nothing special. Instincts took over as a set the hook and started trying to pull the fish in by hand. Only this fish didn’t move toward me.

It started heading the other way.

There is no second guessing when you have a nice fish on the end of your line. Your rod doubles over in a way that is unmistakable. The fish goes on a run and starts pulling line through your hand. This fish did not take off fast; instead it swam off with a slow and steady pace. I could feel the arrogance of this fish by his gait; he knew that I was not simply going to pull him to hand.

Big fish are special. And they are played on a fly rod differently. You don’t simply muscle them to hand as you would a common catch. You have to play them; to finesse them; to slowly cox them into coming to you. In a way, you have to build a relationship with the fish…

I rapidly reeled my slack fly line off the water and “reeled him up”; a mark of achievement for any fish. I moved the rod right and left, suggesting to the fish which way I would like him to go as he slowly steamed toward hiding spots and snag ups. The truth of this fight was that the fish was in control. We can only make suggestions on how we would like the fight to go; and luckily the fish do not know this. If they did, we would never catch trophy fish.

As I slowly turned the fish away from a snag I was rapidly adjusting the drag to keep enough pressure on him to tire him out; but not enough to break the line. My right was slowly directing his direction, the left was reeling when the fish would come in; and turning the drag as he would run. I started paddling the float tube backwards to open water. Here he would have less places to hide.

As I kicked my feet backward, the fish sensed the movement and saw his chance. He turned with a flash and headed right for my float tube. I reeled furiously to keep the line tight. As he approached me, I was afraid that he would break the hook off on me… the ultimate of embarrassing endings. I was not prepared for the fish to charge me. I was so furiously reeling to keep the line tight, I couldn’t even try to turn him…

When he was a few short feet from the boat, I did the only thing I could think of… While continuing to reel as fast as my hands would let me, I snapped the rod high up into the air; rising my arms as high as the would go…

And when I did, the head of the largest bass I have ever seen shot out of the water and rested on my knees…

In a moment now etched into my mind, I stared down the wide open throat of this largemouth bass. I could have put my entire fist in his mouth and not touched any part of it. I stared deep into his eyes, and I could only say one thing…

“Oh my God…”

I can only imagine that this fish thought the same thing.

As I uttered these words to my self, the fly broke loose from the fish’s jaw… and flew up and over my head. As it did, the fish dropped back into the water…

The whole scene took less then a half a second… but felt like an entire lifetime.

I floated over the same spot three more times searching for this fish again. Each time I set the hook and made that first pull of line, I hoped for the same initial run of that big bass. And each time I made the second pull and realized I had another common bluegill or crappie I was let down. After I grew tired of paddling the float tube, I even went back and waded the spot where I caught him…

The angler in me knew he was long gone. But my soul held out hope…

The only thing I remember about the rest of that trip was how the distant flock of geese came in closer. Their cacophony raised in volume; almost as if nature was mocking me…

I was finally forced off the water by an impending thunderstorm. As I walked from the lake, I knew that I would be back… this month, this summer, this lifetime; until I finally catch and bring this fish to hand.

And a fish this magical needed a name… Jaques. (Why? Read some Shakespeare and find out…)

Now I have my story of the one that got away. Here’s to a lifetime of chasing Jaques…

Vacation Days…

I am usually so busy at work that I don’t take very many vacation days. Not an issue, nor am I complaining. I love my job.

But I am about to max out my accumulated vacation days. And I have to use them, or lose them. My boss sent me and a co-worker an email this week that contained the following:

Gentlemen – what incredible team members you are!

And even though we find it difficult to ‘do without ya’ – YOU NEED TO GET AWAY!

YOU both deserve your deserved time!

Knowing how much you love fishing, I hope that you will watch the weather and as the opportunity presents itself, to find a way to BE GONE!  Even if it is a day here and there…

So I took her advice… and spend Monday and Tuesday this week “on vacation” at the lake…

Where else would I go?

So here are couple quick updates of those trips…

Day 1, Monday: Holmes Lake Park; Lincoln, NE

I had a couple of errands that I had to run on Monday, including spending part of the morning at the DMV. After that experience, I needed some fishing! (And it wasn’t even a bad DMV experience; comparatively speaking…)

I decided to fish Holmes Lake Park in the middle of Lincoln. It’s normally a crowded lake, but it holds a special place in my heart. I used to live down the road from it, and this is the lake I taught myself to fly fish on.

And it’s the closest lake with stocked trout…

I wasn’t planning on trout fishing, I thought the stockers would be long gone. I was just hoping to get into some bass, crappie, and maybe some nice bluegills.

I started off the trip with a nice little bass I plucked out of some timber. Always fun on the fly rod…

But as I was working my way around the lake, working all the “bass-ey” spots I could get a fly to while wading, I ran into a pleasant surprise…

I managed to hook into a nice rainbow trout… about 14 inches long!

Normally the trout are around 10 to 10.5″ when they are stocked… meaning this guy has probably been in the lake since the November stocking. The state also stocks the fish clear on the other side of the lake, way back in a cove… so I was surprised to find him clear over where I was fishing.

This particular trout was a big one as far as the stockers go… but he looked like he had narrowly escaped a larger fish that tried to eat him for lunch… he had bite marks on both sides.

Even though he is a put-and-take fish, I let him go. Nature might have the deck stacked against him this summer with it’s warm water; but he definitely won’t make it if I take him home…

As I continued working my way around the lake, my astonishment continued… I kept hooking into trout!!!

I ended up the day with 1 bass, 4 rainbow trout, and 1 bluegill…

And a nasty sunburn on both forearms…

Day 2, Tuesday: Wildwood Lake; Agnew, NE

Tuesday I had more time on my hands, so I decided to take the float tube on her maiden voyage for the spring! I spent the whole trip to the lake, and most of the time floating on it, singing “I’m On A Boat” by the Lonely Touch… Google the video and you will understand…

And I also packed the sunscreen this time… and a long sleeve shirt to protect my already burned arms…

The morning started off with a nice crappie…

And a lot of bluegills in the 8″ range… fun little fighters!

I like fishing Wildwood because it has a good bass population. I managed to get into a few small ones while I was on the water…

Break out the scales on those guys!!!

I also had a ton more crappies!

And finally, one really nice 9″ bluegill… I am closing in on that Master Angler Award for bluegill…

Overall, it was an awesome day on the water! But the real story of the day was what I did not catch…

That is the story for my next post.

Stay tuned! And until then, tight lines!

E

What We Leave Behind (With Apologies To The Nebraska Game And Parks Commission)

Sometimes fly fishing can be a profoundly existential experience… whether the fish are biting or not.

Yesterday, the fish were not biting.

As I roamed the banks of East Twin Lake, I noticed a sign… this same sign can be found at lakes across North American. There was nothing special about the sign itself. Sadly this sign is often ignored…

As I passed this sign, I got to thinking about it’s message… what do we leave behind?

At first, my thoughts were drawn to the surface message itself… “No trash pick up”. Walking down the beach, this was painfully obvious. In fact, it almost hurts to see the years of beer bottles and cans, fast food containers, empty worm bowls, among many other things, that litter the beach itself. The sign began to read less as a statement and a call to action; and more like an eerie prophecy.

How careless some people can be.

But as I wandered further down the beach, the amount of trash decreased; even though the paths were still well beaten into the ground. As I slowly reached where I wanted to fish, I was struck by my first epiphany of the day… yes there are a few bad apples in the crowd. But I shouldn’t let this ruin the experience for me. I believe that we as humanity our inherently good; even if a few people can occasionally cast the rest in a bad light. The type of people who are lazy enough to carelessly cast their waste upon the ground are also to lazy to move very far from the comfort of their cars in the parking lot. The worst litter by far was within a very short walk of the parking lot, and within a couple short minutes I had out walked it…

And in this realization was a tinge of sorrow. There is great reward for venturing further into nature… and it is clear that this type of person will never know the nirvana it brings.

As I walked further down the beach, different words from the sign cried out into my head… “Please leave nothing but your tracks. Will you help?”

Leave nothing but your tracks…

Leave nothing but your tracks…

“Of course,” I thought to myself. I consider myself in high regard when it comes to outdoor ethics. I never leave trash behind, always release my fish, and do everything I can to leave nothing but my tracks. I even take the small snips of tippet material from tying flies onto my line and shove them into my pocket. Of course I only leave my tracks…

Then, as I waded into the icy water and began what would be come a fruitless task of casting, I reached my second epiphany…

I worked my way around brush piles hoping to hook up with a largemouth, white bass, or crappie; and as I did so, I found another reminder of what we leave behind hanging from a branch and dancing in the wind. A single spinner bait…

I don’t mind wading into the water while fly fishing; in fact it is often necessary to provide enough space to backcast and avoid hanging up in trees. But this is not something that all anglers like to do. And every angler will let loose that one poorly timed cast that drifts from control… and hangs up on a snag.

I believe most anglers will do everything they can to remove their tackle from a snag. But sometimes it is not practical, or even safe to retrieve the tackle. And we leave something behind… like this spinner bait swaying in the wind.

I waded over to the brush pile and cut the spinner bait free from it’s tangle. Even though I rarely fish with a spinning rod, I am building quite an impressive tackle box for my spinning rod on gear that I have rescued from the water. On this same day, I also recovered a Rapala crack bait, and a foam grasshopper fly. All good signs that I am fishing a spot where others at least think they will find fish as well. And each reminds me of all the flies that I have lost to snags and fish.

I consider losing fishing tackle a forgivable sin. Like I said, I believe that most anglers do everything that can to avoid losing tackle… replacement costs can add up fast. But it is a part of fishing. I would rather find a 1000 spinnerbaits and Rapalas in the lake then a single piece of trash on the beach.

Losing a fly does not bother me; even if I spent a lot of time on the tying vise creating it. It is just a part of the experience. I am only bothered losing a fly when one breaks off in a fish. A fish with a fly is stuck in its mouth is at a higher risk for mortality; and one that I always feel I could prevent if I was a better fisherman: if I had tied a better knot, if I had set the hook sooner, if I had done more to turn the fish from the snag…

This feeling does much to drive me to become a better fisherman…

After a few hours of casting and no bites, I decided to pack it in. I hiked back around the lake… over my footprints, and footprints of anglers who had came hours before me; past the brush that I had rescued tackle from; past the trash on the beach; past the entire world of nature…

As I reached my car, I stopped and took one final gaze back toward the lake…

Again, I thought of the sign I passed on my way to the water; and its words screamed out in the silence…

“Leave nothing but your tracks.

Leave nothing but your tracks.

Leave nothing but your tracks.

Will you help?”

As I looked down the gravel to the boat ramp, I had my final epiphany…

I did not think about the trash that I passed but did not pick up; the flies I had lost in this lake in trips past and could not recover; the footsteps on the beach that I had left; or about the fishing tackle I had saved that day.

I thought about myself. My soul. And why I come to the lake in the first place.

And with apologizes to the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission, the order is too tall to fill. I always leave something behind at the lake…

With every cast, every fish caught or escaped with my fly, with every moment caught breathless looking out of the water, I leave something behind…

Sometimes it falls out of me effortlessly. And sometimes I have to fling it away with every cast… as if I am somehow trying to flick a piece of myself off the end of the line; off of the fly; and into the depths of the water.

Physically, I try my best to leave only my tracks.

But I always leave something behind…