End of the year

The last 7 or 8 years "look back" have all been as enjoyable as the seasons and the year fishing had been. This is the first year in a long time i did not break 100, or get to the West Branch of the -------, or about 8 or 9 other rivers i try to fish once a year. I did manage to ply new water (always part of the goal). However the few days i managed to get out were either not very productive or there were to many other things going on.

Nearly every member of my family was in the hospital... my wife, my daughter (4 x), brother had spinal surgery, dad had a defibrillator added to his pacemaker and i had something or other.  It seemed like we were blessed for 20 or 25 years with no one really sick or any problems and then about 2 years ago i lost my mom and last year my grand pa and now this year.... It is tough to wonder what is around the bend and not nearly as much fun as on a river (around the bend) but that's life and just something to deal with. I got to believe next year will be better and am finally in position to look beyond 2007 and forward to 2008.

As i close out the year i am comforted by the French mountaineering expression (which i will tailor here to fly fishing) - "The River, she is always there".

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Small Trout Water

Pics

I feel like a swolen pumpkin

NSA footage of my accident

This is the actual footage from the NSA satellite # 3 and shows the real time events of my recent accident....

Old Guys - 1 more time

It was a scorcher (mid 90s+) but the water was in the mid 60's, so it should have been good for trout, but fish are funny that way and i guess either the light was too bright, or the water was too wet or something else was just off. In those days i would spend 12 - 16 + hours a stream,  wading every foot of the river, kicking rocks and falling in holes. On prior occasions this particular 100 yard riffle had been very productive water, so based on the past I flailed away wiping the water senseless and dragging my dehydrated, sweating self up and down this stretch going fishless for the fist 3-4 hours.

After a while i noticed a blue pickup truck driving back and forth a 1/2 dozen times over the next 3 to 4 hours. Inside was Old Guy, watching me fish but something seemed "off". Given my catch rate I was really just wading with a fancy stick. Old Guy had been driving along the dirt road kicking up enough dust to remind me of those old B&W westerns, he stopped at one point and yelled "Hey whatcha you doing?" This was a troubling question, as it was clear I was standing in water up to my chest, waving what PJ O'rourke had previously noted is a really expensive clothesline back and forth. Clearly i was either a fool or a really bad fisherman (or more likely both). Generally when i am in a remote place and a lone guy stalks me, the NY’er in me kicks in, I hear the “Deliverance” banjo playing in the background, thinking this is why Woody Allen stays in the city.  But i like to be polite and answered him that i was fishing. He just shook his head looked at me in a most pitiful way, like i was planting corn in dry cement.

It was about 6:15 pm before Old Guy stopped his truck and sat on the step bar. It would be another 1/2 hour before he took out his waders and an hour more before he dropped into the water. I feel I should point out he was not that old (late 60's) he was simply taking his time. Just before 7:30 he finished straitening his leader and tied on a fly. He looks over to the pitiful city boy and yelled to (at?) me for the second time this day “Adams #14”. Right then i knew he was clearly a "master", sharing a powerful secret. As fast as i could i clipped my 10th + fly of the day and tied on an Adams #14 (though i had never fished one before).

Now for those of you not in the club the Adams is one of the oldest dry flies out there and yeah i know this is the most popular fly sold in America, blah, blah, blah, but there is a reason for this. The thing just looks buggy and everyone really should have a few in various sizes.

It was a real joy to watch him fish, his line was balanced for the tippet and fly; it was sheer poetry as I watched him lay out 50' + balanced, graceful casts. This Old Guy however was not a caster or a poet or even showing off; he was the 1% who catches 90% of fish. In the time it took me to real in, clip off and tie the fly on, he had landed about 5 or 6 fish in the same water i had been fishing all day with out a hit (mostly with out even a bump). My first cast was about as bad a cast as you could hope for in the presence of such a master and as the line piled, bunched and sagged, i prepared to rip it off the water but it was stuck. In the high country there are fallen trees and rocks and other snags but in this gin clear water where I knew there were no hang ups within a 100 yards (i had just spent the day kicking and wading the entire riffle). So this was, it was, was it a fish!?!?. Good news, i reeled him in and just smiled, Old Guy smiled back.

I usually don't keep count or at least I stop counting fish after about 6 (it is not really about the fish) but in this case as he fished me 2 to 1 and as the body count rose i keep track. With a new fish at least every 2nd or 3rd cast the count rose quickly. Up to this point i had only read about “boiling rivers overflowing with fish” and assume they were fiction. I know the math guys will say it is just not possible, but we quickly passed 30 & 50 respectively. When i hit 30 I broke out laughing (i had never been north of 15 or even really close to it), and Old Guy looked at me and asked for the 2nd time that day "What are you doing?" Again, he was asking “Why?” But this time it was why are you wasting your time laughing, when now is the time to fish. Shortly after dark we waded out (the fishing had not let up but we were tired and it was a tough wade back to the bank).

My goal in life up until then was to hit the trifecta (a brookie, a brown and a rainbow in a single day). Well this was a special river and although most of the fish were stockers I managed 3 brookies, 19 bows, 20 + + browns and a landlocked salmon. This was a turning point for me, i had learned more in a few hours than in the last few years.

Back at the trucks we just kind of looked at each other and smiled. Old Guys are just "other guys" who got old along the way. They were once, are still and will be again our friends, our mentors, our brothers and even one day ourselves.

Go wet a line...

Boots to the Door & nothing More...

Brackish pond less than 10 miles from NYC.

Tomorrow -

Lets see what happens -

 

all it takes is get up and go...

First Fall Was New

I walked to the waters edge without fear or trepidation to see the cause of so much pain & hardship to me / my family and my co-workers. it was one of the last of days before the fall rains would come and the leaves would clutter and ultimately choke the smaller streams and brooks. The water was exceptionally clear low and warm for this time of year. Only the deepest of pools retained their inky black depth which hid the holdovers and none we to be found skeetering around.

The rocks were bleached as white as fresh snow (well in NYC). There was a quite stillness that precedes the fall urgency to feed. The birds were varied and prolific. The clouds threatened and then cleared. Fear was gone (for now). I am glad i got out (pain & all) before winter fell, i could not take the doubt and wonder of "what ifs" for the next 6 months.

I will go out again, and i will be ok (one day)...

Why Go ?

Friends ask why go?
Why go alone?
Why do you go so far from the road?
Don't you know you should never go to the woods alone?
YES i know but like Neil said - "if you could see the wonder in my eyes"....
I am paying dearly for my paucity of outings, but they make life whole...




An image from healthier times...

The Fall

I have always read the AAJ's Accidents in North American Mountaineering annuals, to learn from others misfortune, so now i share mine with you...

The morning CSUSA session ended about 12:30 and after a quick bite with the group I retreated to my room for a long chat with an old friend, we reminisced about the final Saparano's and life since last week met. He wanted to go for a sail but i was not up to any activity due to a massive oak bloom (allergies). I decided to lay down for a nap, but could not sleep.

After not being able to sleep i went to a local store bought some Benadryl and then headed north (my favorite direction), to a primeval spruce & fur tract. I arrowed down the dirt road, for ~ 8 - 9 miles of bumps, past the fork in the road, dead ends and spin outs to a pull off. I was just going to "look at the water" but i've learned to rig up (just in case) so armed  with my 5' - 3 wt a cigar and some bug dope i set off for a walk int he woods...

 It was hot, dry and the fishing was typical mid summer poor. Only this was early - mid June in the north country. The water was low and clear as the air. The spruce forest revived me of my oak bloom and i felt refreshed enough to take a wet walk up the brook. I had done this a hundred times before on other  brooks and several times on this particular one, and planned to continue do this for the next 50 or 60 years....

The first mile of so is easy going and a gentile start to the late afternoon. The casting was easy the cigar was working to keep me relatively free of flying pests. I bypassed much of the lower water as it looked to thin or i had always wanted to see the water beyond the big cascade (don't we always want to see what is beyond the falls or try the other side?). The first 2 fish came as they do with bold strikes and enthusiastic attempts at flight, one 6"er is pictured below.

 

All seemed right with the world - my boots with good felt soles, dry moss free rocks and a canopy as dense as you could imagine. As i worked my way up to the cascade it sparked the memory of my last trip (a fine brace of 10 & 11") and the low water today held the promise of easier access to plumb the depths of this fine pool.

The lower water allowed me to bolder the tricky erratic and navigate the still full flowing cascade above with relative ease. This is one of the few small water outings which combines bouldering and fishing. Above the cascade the fishing petered out and i had planned to turn back at the outlet to the pond atop the ridge. This was about 3 miles from the car and as far as i would go this late in the day. I would save the pond for another day and then one day to aspire to the water above the inlet. There is always one more place to go...

20 yards below this point, on a 20 degree incline of dry solid rock my footing went wrong and i felt myself going down. I had a choice between the water with mixed rocks on my left or the near hillside which i went for but could not get my arm up & out in time. The fall it self was minor perhaps only 3' - 4' but the aftermath was not...

The first realization was some was radically wrong came as i raised myself my right arm it  swung out in an unnatural, uncontrolled and totally revolting manner. It was all i could do to not get sick at the site of  this now foreign appendage swinging loosely away from my body. As usual there is no cell coverage deep in the north woods. So it came down to fight or flight which once it takes hold, the adrenalin kicks in the mind shifts into a sharp focus. I must collect my thoughts, I must not pass out from the gross factor, I must not rest or sleep here for if so, I will not get up or got out of this - period.

With my left hand / arm I reached out for and pulled in the alien appendage in, hooking the thumb on my vest. I grabbed some 5x and tied a loop around my wrist and secured it and then my arm close to my body to prevent further movement or another nausea inducing freak show. At this point i chucked my cigar into the river with the band still attached (the only time in my life i did not peal it off & carry it out), i simply could not take a chance on anything going wrong at this point.

In all the years of reading the AAJ Accident reports one thing came to mind that the initial fall is not the only thing to be weary of,  you must redouble your efforts to protect the injury at all costs to avoid a second fall. I chose the difficult task of ascending to the ridge line knowing it would be easier to descend than to follow the brook back down to the car. Also I now realize i would never have been able to "bolder" around the erratic with only one arm.

The loose talus slope up to the ridge would have been trenchers enough with both hands, but i made my way slowly and carefully and once on the ridge breathed my first sigh since the fall. The ridge line was well defined and mostly clear of the loose debris below. Once i reached the car i could not get my vest off nor could i get cell coverage.

I managed to get into the car and activated the GPS which knew exactly where i was and with my car's bread crumb feature... where specifically "off rode" i was. Now i have been mostly adverse to tech in the woods but thanks to this I was a lot safer than any other possible circumstance. I entered "Hospital" and the car asked if i would like to go to the nearest hospital and i said yes i would...

End result more than 1 month later looked like this...

 

Final tally a spiral break on the arm, fractured shoulder, bruised ribs, sprained wrist & fore arm and as of a few days a go  visit to the DDS 3 broken teeth which until that visit 2 months after the fall i was unaware of ....


     

                                         The Scar is 3" longer than any of the fish that day...

This was extremely hard on my family, my daughter & wife know what i do and where i go. This was my refuge from the city and now i can only wonder - - -  -

Was it worth it???

Will i ever go out again?

Next time the aftermath both family and rehab...

Hewitt section

2nd time out & first full day of the year - 4 miles into the hike i realized that Google maps might just be wrong - although the bog was large 2nd only to the Flow Lands and a whole lot closer to the city. As usual there were spots where you could go in up to your knees or worse. The Water was tea stained and looked right but the flow was not enough to support wild fish. Unfortunately there was no central cascading brook feeding the flow nor was there even a decent spring but the hike was just the thing to get me into shape and broke up the day nicely...

About 3 or 4 miles into the interior i ran into a lost hiking couple - it always strikes me as odd since 3-4 hours in any direction is generally a road here in the east. I guess i am getting old but i just can't understand how this happens, they had no water, map, gps or even a candy bar and they had been out about 7 hours by the time i ran across them.

As to the main river below 1 brookie on a greenie weenie and fished "over" a ton of fish but none were rising to anything bigger than a 28 - white fly (wayyyyyy to early in the season for this type of long tippet fishing.

If you see what i saw on Google than i would recommend /consider trying the approach from the southeast side to see if there was any better luck in the next valley over but based on what i could see i doubt it.

http://maps.google.com/maps?client=firefox-a&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&hl=en&channel=s&q=hewitt,+nj&num=10

5/20/07

Sunday was my first half hearted attempt to get out this season. I know we are well into the 2nd month in NY (which is the 5th month in NJ) but i could not get out until now. I planned to drive to the river and sit watching the flow for a while. In general i seem to be watching more than fishing lately but fishing more effectively when i do get out.

I choose i spot where i have never had any luck, although i know there are fish in this section of the river. I parked the car and just as i hit the trail down to the river i noticed a spotted fawn lying 5 feet from the trail and 10 feet from the road. He was fine, just taking a nap and so i did not take a picture or disturb him. I walked down to the river and strung up the 3 wt. The river was high & cold for this time of year, but i quickly found a rhythm, flipping a Micky Finn into the current and letting it drift down to the first fish a nice 14" brookie. The temperature made him a bit more lethargic then a mid May trout is usually, but it was fine fish, firm and silky.

At some point in the afternoon a large snake crossed the current, i guess it was about 6' long. No idea what kind of snake it was, but it was 15 feet from me and that felt comfortable (as he was down river and the current was on my side). After he passed into the brush on the far side i focused on 2 good current threads and i alternated between them for a few hours with a cigar to break the time up. The faster inside current held a few rainbows - 15 maybe 16" with a bit more life than the brookies.

The longer you go with out getting out the long you will continue to go with out getting out... so just go, now, it does not matter for how long or far or what or if you catch anything but standing in a river clears your mind and allows you to digest loss and melt concern away.

Plus it should make it that much easier to get away on the next trip out..

January Daze 2

I plan to follow the river to its source, despite it being one of the most polluted rivers in one of the most polluted states in the US. The further up river I traveled the nicer the water, until i came to the headwaters where this notorious toxic waste of a river became an actual wild trout stream. I parked the car and crossed the near branch of the river (which gets pounded b/c it is the near branch). I crossed a large field to link up to a wooded trail and the waters edge, where i rigged up.

The headwaters were as most are, more a brook than a river it ran gin clear with what had to be truly wild native fish. This is the warmest January on record (it was up until this week) and i set up with a simulator and a hare's ear dropper. The stimulator was for me to enjoy and the dropper for the fish. It has taken me more than 2 years to get this rig correct, including the rhythm and cast. Just keeping them from twisting and knotting is half the battle before you ever get to really fish it.

The first promising pool told me what to expect of the day - small rainbows (up to 7" most still showed their "Parr" marks). The fish were wild and bread naturally in the many redds that were clearly visible in the shallow water. Although the fish were small they were more than willing, as is often the case with thin water fish. A warm January day is a good time to be astream, it is long after the leaves have precipitated to the ground and the day was not windy enough to kick up the fallen ones back into the water. The float lines were barely visible due to the water level. Having spent over 300 days (total) astream in the last few years I was able to pick the finest of lines and by the time i had reached the pocket water my casts were solid and i was having a fine day.

Typically in the winter you fish the pools slow & deep, but i always feel the need to try every likely place (including drains and ditches along the road). After about several hours and 2 miles in i hit a riffle that looked too shallow to support fish. It was just below a bug factory that looked right and so i tested the tail, with positive results and another small bow. There was a good rock in mid riff and under the bank overhand which yielded the second best fish of the day, an 8" + which played and swam the length ofthe pool (this usually spoils the rest of the pool)  But as the day was running hot i figured to test the tongue and sure enough the best fish of the day was gathering up nymphs from the lip. He only ran about 9" but this was a mature fish w/ no Parr markings, a bright red stripe and a dark spotted tail, he belonged. I released him knowing this was the fish of the day and she would spawn in the spring.

I walked a few more miles but didn't really fish much, although i did put forth a half hearted effort at the falls. I never really learned how to fish waterfalls, but it gives me something to look forward to in my next 300 days astream. I sat down and lit a cigar to enjoy one of the best January day i have even seen. Despite what you read " These are the good ol' days".