Where: Two rivers, one lake, and one creek
When:Friday, Saturday, Sunday
Conditions: Sunny and HOT
Flies used: What didn't I use? :)
Species pursued: Steelhead, suckers, trout and carp

Song of the day: "Maps," Yeah Yeah Yeahs

WARNING! SUPER LONG BLOG ENTRY AHEAD!

Sleep 8, Fishing 28

From 2AM on Friday morning to about 10:30AM on Sunday morning, the ratio of sleep to fishing penciled out at 2 to 7.

And the time in between? Spent in prepping for each of those days.

The cost may seem steep, but the rewards justified it.

Let's rewind to the beginning, shall we?

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The alarm's beeping stirred me from the brief two-hour nap.

It was two in the morning, and it was go time.

I slipped my contacts in, checked my equipment and darted out the door.

Today we would initiate our friend in the ways of the fly.

Minutes later, Don and Steve jumped in the Scion.

As we neared the river, I reassessed my zealousness in setting an early alarm--first light wasn't less than an hour and a half away.

Enter the 24-hour drive through at McDonald's.

"Are you serving dinner or breakfast?"

"Dinner."

Jackpot.

We grabbed our orders at the second window and made for the water.

Despite my early morning hunger pangs, I waited until we were riverside.

Once there, I proceeded to wolf down my "breakfast."

Nothing like a Big Mac to start off the day!

Belly full, I went about stringing up.

I decided to try out a few tube patterns I tied.

The one positive thing I can say about waking up so early is that I can take my time when I get to the water. No bunched waders, misaligned ferrules or sloppy knots.

This time, it was fresh air, unencumbered thoughts and the beginning of a beautiful day to enjoy. :)

As I mentioned before, the day's intent was to introduce a friend to fly fishing.

Granted, it was a huge gamble to start someone off with spey (not to mention steelhead), but I don't think it deterred this particular initiate.

"This is great. It's been so long since I've seen the sun rise."

Well, buddy, there it is. Enjoy. :)

Rods ready, I turned to Don.

"You want to take him through things?"

"Yeah."

With the sun gradually lighting the valley, I quickly worked down the first part of the run.

Momentarily sated, I turned upstream and witnessed the birth of a new fly angler.

Don had Steve working on a double spey. Steve went through each stage, attempting to translate what he heard into what he was doing. I watched him repeat the motions over and over again, making minor adjustments here and there.

In my experience, proper execution cannot be attained without diligence. When someone exhibits this ethic in fly fishing, I am encouraged to believe that their efforts will be rewarded with not only good technique but good fish karma.

It may not happen that day, but it will happen.

Which brings us to the next day...

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"It's gotta be 80 already. And it's only 9."

Under a sun-filled, bleach-blue sky, the arid landscape's hot fist clenched around us.

We welcomed it.

Under normal circumstances, the heat would be unbearable--oppressive, even.

But today, the forecasted triple digit temps would be offset by the comfortable waters of a carp-filled desert reservoir.

Jan, Steve and Don had made the long trip over to observe the spectacle of the giant, leaping goldfish.

"Don't freak out if they run into your legs."

Heh. I was only half joking. :)

"Let's cut across."

I was eager to get to my favorite spot. Maybe too eager.

Don took a different direction and hooked one almost immediately.

A good sign.

Not long after, I had one, too.

We spread out, each man claiming his own piece of water. There was plenty to go 'round.

Jan carried on like a kid at Sea World, with "Whoas!" and other such exclamations. Not only did he see big fish, but he ran into them, too. Literally.

"He followed it!"

As the day heated up, so did the fishing. We were surrounded by overgrown goldfish.

The game was on.

There's a school!

Success!

Don was quickly into another one. Since he was within casting distance, I decided to work the same school.

Double!

From my point of view. :)

Say cheese!

For a short time, it was carp madness.

Not too shabby!

But all things must end and all of sudden, the fish turned off.

I turned to the group.

"What do you guys want to do? No sense wasting the rest of the day waiting for them to turn back on."

They agreed.

"I have an idea..."

And it was ditch trout.

Nothing like that to top off a day in the desert.

Don drew first blood--again... :)

Followed by this chunky specimen.

And remember what I said about fish karma? Here's Steve's first fly-caught trout--on his second day fly fishing. Congrats, Steve!

Aaaannd one more for good measure!

We would've stayed, but there's only so much heat you can take without having to cool off in the water and seeing as how Rocky Ford's a no-wading zone, it was back in the car and off over the mountains.

Hours later, the trunk shut and I put the car in "D."

"See you all in a few."

I meant that literally. This had become and endurance test. :)

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This time, I beat the alarm. Three AM didn't seem so bad anymore.

Isn't that sick?

As I rolled out of bed, I thought I heard my bones creak. How much time passed from when I put my head on the pillow?

It didn't matter how much or little sleep I had, the sad fact was that tomorrow was Monday.

And that meant returning to the mind-numbing trudgery of Corporate America.

No, more sleep would mean squandering precious hours which I could be wringing the life out of.

So an hour later, I picked up two more fishing zombies and we headed back to the beginning of our circuit.

And continued to share more knowledge.

As well as find some knowledge on our own.

And mess with some newly-tied patterns.

We even found time to fish.

In the end, endurance will only take you so far and about halfway through the day, we gave in to the scenery, excellent weather and the satisfaction that we spent more time fishing than wasting it. It was time to just sit back and soak it all in.

One of us even managed to get more sleep! :)

Where: Back on the river
When: Saturday
Conditions: Mostly sunny, light breeze
Flies used: Marabous
Species pursued: Steelhead

Song of the day: "Surrender," Cheap Trick

"It gets to you like that."

The guy on the other end knew exactly how I felt.

Steelheading has started to consume me.

And it's not just the steelhead.

It's everything about steelheading.

I've come to accept that it's a very low-numbers game--and I've even convinced myself that I like it that way!

Crazy?

How about daydreaming of walking-pace runs and thinking of traffic as river right or river left? What about buying three new two-handers in as many months? One for super low, clear water, the other for general floating line work and the third for all-around use?

Um, yeah...I have it pretty bad.

It's gotten to the point that I'm willing to bribe my buddies with these just so they'll go with me! :)

See what I mean? Look closely...

Heck, I even tied one fly every day for the past week (okay, some days I tied two) to help me cope. ;)

Seriously, if you haven't noticed it in recent posts, I've been throwing the two-hander a LOT.

That doesn't mean I won't be doing other things, though, so for those of you who enjoy variety, I'll maintain the balance here on this blog. You'll still see saltwater posts, carp, trout, etc.

But I've come to enjoy fishing for speying for steelhead so much that I've started a separate blog about summer steelheading in particular--I'm not so much into the winter game. :)

To read my inaugural post and see what the blog will be like (I think), click here.

In the meantime, look for a report next week from this weekend's carp class (I'm keeping my fingers crossed).

Where: On the river
When: Saturday
Conditions: Mostly sunny, slightly breezy
Flies used: Various marabous
Species pursued: Steelhead

Song of the day: "The Way It Is," Bruce Hornsby

Summer steelheading is upon us.

Days are starting earlier and ending later, making both after work jaunts as well as entire days, complete with mid-day naps, all too tempting.

If there's anything I could get lost in at this stage in my fly fishing life, summer steelheading is it.

And that's what we did.

A few pictures to whet the appetite of those enamored by the summer swing...

Messin' with a Skagit Compact

This seam looked REALLY fishy!

Bill was thinking the same thing we were!

Just enjoying the day...

Diggin' the new DECHO spey...

Might as well try it...

Sorry, no fish pics this time around, just a love tap earlier in the day to show for our efforts.

Not that going fishless could ruin a day like this...

Where: Rocky Ford
When: Saturday
Conditions: Sunny, windy
Flies used: White bunny leech, glo bug, Rickard's stillwater nymph
Species pursued: Ditch (rainbow) trout

Song of the day: "My Name Is Jonas," Weezer

"I spent a lot of time out here. Some weekends I'd head out on Saturday morning and come back that evening. Then I'd do it again the next day. I just wanted to get away."

Of course, back then, gas was cheap, my time was free and my experience limited.

The perfect formula for feeding an addiction.

Sure, I'd fished Rocky Ford over the past years, but not with the same frequency as that year. Back then, 'the ditch' served as a focal point for subsiding the worries, anger and lack of forward direction that seemed to swell my mid twenties.

Standing on the foot bridge, I stared at a pig of a trout. As he finned to the left and intercepted a drifting morsel, my eyes refocused on my reflection.

The face on the surface looked back with the reassurance that things had changed for the better.

A good part of that started with this creek.

That must have been the reason why we ended up here--with everything else being either spotty or outright disastrous I can only guess that my Rocky Ford reflex took over. :)

"Go get 'em man."

Don and I staked out our spots and started lining up drifts.

Boy, was I rusty. I must've had a dozen refusals before I had my first take. And when I finally had a bite, I ripped the fly away from the fish!

In the meantime, Don drew first blood. :)

It didn't take long after that to get things going.

And going...

And going.

They love the white rabbit!

Who says men can't multitask? ;)

Whoops! He isn't ready yet!

Now that's a pretty ditch trout.

More multitasking...

"Let's hit the lower stretch."

It was like being 26 again. For the next several hours, I had no troubles, no distractions, willing fish and plenty of sunshine.

This was one of those finicky guys from directly downstream of the bridge. Nice job, Don!

Good 'n plenty!

Another generous pocket.

"We haven't had a day like this in a long time."

"Too long."

Another ditchy for Don.

And me, too!

"Wow, it's 5:30 already."

Seven straight hours of fishing and for all I cared, it could have been seven more. But a certain level of moderation is something five more years of age has taught me to appreciate, so we called it a day.

"So what do you want to smoke? We should celebrate."

I knew which answer he was looking for and it was a good one.

"The Antano, dude!"

So we smoked, drank, recounted fishing stories and plotted future adventures.

Not a worry in the world and nowhere close to anything that matters, except good fishing.

Maybe turning 31 isn't so dreadful, after all. Looking back on things, it's better than turning 26--for me, at least.

Either way, it's not like the trout care. ;)

Where: NOT the Cedar River
When: Sunday
Conditions: Cool, overcast
Flies used: Marabou Spey, some no-name summer flies
Species pursued: Steelhead

Song of the day: "Are You Happy Now?," Michelle Branch

"The Cedar is definitely a no-go."

Our favorite urban stream's flows, like the majority of the other rivers', were out of control.

Bummer...

This couldn't have come at a worse time for me, either.

I've gone fishless for the past month and the itch for a tug had really gotten to me.

I ran through the list of options in my head.

I didn't want to go over the pass.

Stocked trout didn't hold any appeal.

Chucking clousers in the salt, hoping to find a cuttie or maybe a coho didn't sound fun, either.

And by ironic process of elimination, steelheading became the fishing plan d'jour.

While most rivers were high, we knew of one that wasn't.

And by six in the morning, we were on it.

I tied on a marabou spey and chucked it into the run, slipping into the cast, swing, step formula.

Halfway down, I felt a tug and let the slack line slip from my fingers.

A miss. A rock, maybe?

It couldn't have been.

So I went through again.

Another tap.

I let the line slip again, lifted the rod slightly and...

...shook the skunk off...kind of. :(

Not exactly what I was looking for, but bringing something to hand helped me cope with my fishing doldrums.

And it even led to a few real trout later in the run!

They weren't huge and they weren't steelhead, but after a month of strikeouts, I'll take it.