Spring

It was one of those days. 

I even Googled it to make sure. 

High 60's low 70's, just a puff of breeze.  I knew the water was clear and I knew I had to go. 

So I did.

The dog kept looking at me.  I have a weakness.  I can't idly stand by when I know I can make somebody's life a little better.  The dog looked at me and I thought..."You can stay at home and sit by the window and watch the day go by or you can join me and sit in a boat and watch the day go by".

Obviously a boat is waaaay better than a window.

So, he jumped in the truck and we drove down the road.

I launched the Battle Skiff and we headed south instead of north.
I stood on his leash so he wouldn't jump over the gunwale at every goose or mallard that we passed.

When we got to the channel just west of the flat, I powered down, kicked the motor up and started poling.

We got into position near a dip in the flat that I know carp like to inhabit.  I dropped both rocks and waited only a short time before the first fish arrived.  I pitched and waited. Pitched and retrieved.  No dice.

This was not my eater. 

I stood on the poling platform with my 6 wt in the "ready position"...waiting.

A fish swam up from behind and when I turned my head to scan the water behind me it left a telltale puff and was gone.

I pulled the rocks and let the slight breeze push us around while I stood on the platform.  Watching.

The dog walked fore and aft, leaning starboard and port.  It was like a poling platform training day for me, constantly shifting my weight to allow the dog to do what dogs do.

The breeze puffed from the west and then the north and then from I don't know where.  We almost drifted in a "Z".  Not enough "oooomph" to make us go anywhere specific.  We settled into a holding pattern and I spotted a cruising fish.  I pitched but the weight of the dumbell eyes kicked the cast too far left, I re-pitched too late.

The dog liked to study the bubbles and mud from the fish that got too close to the boat before bolting.

One fish, a nice heavy golden specimen, was finning right toward me.  I led him by 2 feet and the fly sank perfectly.  When the fish was close, I started to nudge it back, the carp tracked it for 4 feet, inhaled and when I felt the tension I strip set.

The weight of the hook pricking the mouth of the fish was affirming, but it didn't stick.

 Damn it.

You can say they are ugly, you can say they are invasive, you can say they are trash fish.

You can't say they are easy to hook with a fly.

Not around here anyway.

Thor...boat dog

Puff

Dog: "They are jumping right over here!"

"...and over here"

sliding by

Bogey

Those eyes say..."you really, really suck at this."

Canadian SeaGull launches off.

Florida

Spring Break when you are 43 means something totally different than spring break when you are 20. 

My daughters, 7 and 11 were off from school this week and the family boarded a Frontier flight (we flew free on vouchers issued from the Mexico debacle from November), and this time I brought my rod tube on board, without apology, and pulled it off with no questions asked.  As we have for a number of years, we flew into Fort Myers and drove down to Marco Island.

It appears 20 year olds on spring break don't go to Marco Island, which is why I go to Marco Island.

I didn't bring my work lap-top and when my work cell phone battery died on day 2 I didn't bother to plug it back in.  It was tennis with my wife, ice cream with the kids and sunset cocktails with the in-laws.

And a day of Tarpon fishing.

I spent a morning wading the Tigertail Beach lagoon but the recent cold front left it void of fish.  I fished the jetty on the south side and despite seeing 3 pompano caught, I was blanked.  I stopped by a local boat shop and inquired about fly guides.  The guy at the counter said, "yeah call OC...Captain Drew".  He gave me Capt. Drew's number and when I got back to the condo I gave him a call.  He said he had a family fishing trip booked for Wednesday that he "might" be able to get another guide to take it.  He said he'd give me a call back.

The call came about an hour later, he was "in".

The plan was to meet at a gas station on Marco on Wednesday morning.  I was without wheels and he agreed to shuttle me to the launch in Goodland FL, about 15 minutes south and the entrance to the 10,000 Islands.

At the prescribed time on Wednesday morning, Captain Drew pulled in for gas and I jumped into his Tacoma (boat in tow).

I'd put him at 27 or 28 years old.  Young and eager.  I like that.

He said he knew a spot where the tarpon were laid up and we'd likely get some shots.

We pulled off the dock, idled through the manatee zone, and jumped up on plane.
I'm sure if I spent as much time in the 10, 000 Islands as he did, the labyrinth of creeks and mangroves would seem less labyrinthy...but if would have told me to steer the boat home (without electronics) I would have been in tough shape.

He cornered the skiff into a mangrove bay that looked just like every other bay we had seen, cut the motor and jumped up on the poling platform.  I took the casting deck with his 11 wt (I only brought 8's) and fired off a few test cats to get a feel for the rod, line and fly.

It was 7:40 AM.

At about 8:15 AM he spotted his second laid up tarpon, I pitched and the fish ate...I strip set and the fly popped out.  To give you some perspective, these weren't babies.  Averaging 100-150 lbs these giants seem like more of a threat than a quarry.  They pull into this channel and settle into the bay to rest on their migration north.  A number of them exploded on the surface as the day progressed, a few charged hard for no apparent reason, leaving a thick wake in the shallow water.  Others simply floated up to the surface, took a breath and sunk back down.  The water was tinged with green making visibility tough but it was better than it had been for months, or so said Capt Drew.

We spent the day poling and looking, peering and hoping.  I can't remember how many fish we saw, threw flies at or simply lost sight of.  It occurred to me at one point that 100 pound fish shouldn't be that hard to find or that difficult to see once we located them.   It was steady a steady and baffling hunt.  Unnerving and exhilarating at the same time.

The early grab would be the last eat that I had from a Tarpon that day but the hunting action was constant and when things would slow down for 10 or 15 minutes a giant silver king would blow up 300 yards away and keep us on our toes.

By late afternoon we made our way deep into a corner of the bay when the finger mullet started freaking out.  I took a long shot at a cruising shark that followed but didn't eat because I failed to keep the fly in it's zone of vision.  I was watching the mullet explode around me when I small school blew up a 10 yards off the bow.  I false cast and pitched into the settling water, stripped three times and then watched a hole open up under my fly.  The jack turned and I set.

The backing screamed off the reel and I felt like giggling.  I've always liked jacks.  I have only ever caught some 10" fish off the beach but I deeply admire their hunger and strength.  This one was a little over 10 inches.

In the course of the battle the jack put the 11 wt into a deep arc, made me tighten the drag and kept lining a laid up tarpon 80 yards out.  A saltwater gong-show.

I know that Capt. Drew was hoping I'd land the jack and get a shot at the tarpon but I was having too much fun to worry about a 100 lb tarpon.  When we finally got it on the Boga-grip it weighed in at 16 lbs.

I love jacks.

I had been standing on the deck for 8 hours when I asked Capt. Drew what the plan was.  He replied, "What time do you have to be back?", I said, "Dinner in Goodland with the family at 5:30".

He said, "With the tide down I know where we might be able to see some snook or redfish..."

OK!

Before it was over I had shots at Trapon, Jacks, Snook, Redfish and Black Drum.  Capt. Drew fished me for close to 10 hours and I had a great time.  I've been to Andros where the guides started looking at their watches at 4:15.  Not the case here.  I think he would have fished me until dark.
I like fishing with guides whose love of fishing supersedes the time clock or the 8 hour window printed on their brochures...such is the case with Capt. Drew.

We got back to the dock at 5:45.

If you are ever down in Naples or Marco Island and would like to fish the 10,000 islands I can highly recommend Capt Drew and his company Mangrove Maniacs.

shallow draft boats

Pelican

Grackle (?) attacks Osprey

Mullet...the other white meat

natural chum...

walk the straight and narrow

Bike to the beach

Beach Still Life

Morning

Tarpon Water

Jacks are awesome

Capt. Drew on the release.

Carp Patrol (with backup)

I headed back out to the flats under high sun and more wind that I wanted.  MK joined me which was nice since it's way easier to fish with two guys in the boat, the boat poles cleaner and the another set of eyes on the water is worth it's weight in gold.

We poked around the upwind side of the flat and then gradually dropped into the wind whipped side where expansive muds were in evidence and we unknowingly blew up fish everywhere.  In places we were in less than 2' of water but still we couldn't spot them. 

We tried fishing blind for a few half hearted minutes and then circled around to the clear water where we spotted a fish, gave chase and MK got off a couple of shots before it vanished.

We learned a few things during our daylong tour of the mudflats...
1. There are a ton of carp on this flat in late march.
2. They are schooled and making mud which makes them really tough to see.
3. There are some smaller fish in the muds, drum perhaps?
4. we have a ways to go before we have this dialed in.

More to come.

Carp Patrol

I was thinking about trout, then thinking about carp.  I went back to trout and then right back to carp.  I pulled the Battle Skiff out of the garage, threw in my 8 wt and headed to the river.  I was all alone at the launch.  The river was looking cold and the ice caked in the shaded parts indicated that it probably was not a great day to get wet.

It felt good to be afloat again.  I fired up the Yamaha and stood straddling the rear seat holding the extended tiller handle I just built.  I gave the grip a twist and damning all the torpedoes...blasted upstream.  It's been awhile since I've been up here and I was watching the water close for new wood or shallow spots.  I thought I remembered the channel, but soon found myself on a giant mud flat in scarcely a foot of water.  I carved "S" turns keeping the prop as high as possible before dropping into a trough and straightening out the plane.

I dropped into a slow idle upstream, scanning the shallow sand bottom for signs of carp.  I ran about 1/2 of a mile up one bank and then down the other.  Nothing.  Back-tracking downstream I went the other way around the island down to where a spring dumps into the widening in the river.

I found the carp.

The downwind side of this section of the river was teaming with fish.  They were possibly feeding but certainly moving, as the water went from gin clear to chocolate milk.  I estimate there were perhaps hundreds of fish in here.  I backtracked and got upwind of the pod (easily a 100 yards wide, this pod of fish).  I dropped the anchor and slowly worked my way down wind into the school, trying to find the edge between clear and stained water, hoping to anchor upwind of the edge and cast to heads moving out of the mud into clear water.  I

It was a nice theory but it didn't work.  I saw mud boils when I got to close but I never saw a fish move through clear water.

I eventually gave up and motored down river, where, after poling around, I found another pod of fish on the downwind side, making the same kind of mess.  I tried to pull my stunt off here too, but again I was foiled.

It looks like I need a new idea.

Early Season Day 2 - less bushwhacking

One half of a mile.  That was all that was left of the little stream.  We could say we fished it from the source to the confluence...all on opening weekend.  It seemed a shame to leave it undone.

I've determined that part of the reason that fish exist in this creek is that you CANNOT get to them.  The bottom is treacherous and the banks are impossible and the stream is a jumble of downed wood.

But still, we tried.

On a positive note, we saw fish.  There was one in particular that I spotted before it spooked.  It held in little over 12" of water and I would have missed it if its shadow didn't offer a mirrored shape of the fish.  It reminded me of bonefishing when the fish are so well camouflaged that the easiest thing to spot is their shadow.  Instead of attempting a cast (which would have invariably been cut short by the bank side brush) I opted for my camera.  I screwed on my polarizing filter and blasted away.  A few minutes went by before JP showed up on the opposite bank and I suggested that he try to get a picture too.

He was almost in position when the fish and the shadow evaporated into a puff of silt.

The story of our day...

The 2015 Opener - Bushwhacked

January over, February gone.  Many look to the robin or the groundhog for news of spring, I look to the trout.

JP and I spoke a few times over the past couple of days and decided to hit the small trout stream nearest our homes for the opener of the trout season.  It might have been fine to just hot spot from known holes and take what was given, but instead we opted for a full length tour.  We drove two vehicles and dropped one at a bridge access before taking the second to the headwaters, a section neither of us had ever seen.

For the first time in months I was overdressed and ended up stuffing gloves in my pack and leaving an extra layer or two behind in the car. 

It ended up being 2 miles of hiking.  The first mile crunching through the snow next to a mostly iced over trickle surrounded with gnarly undergrowth.  I know that no small part of that mile was spent on my knees trying to steer a 9' fly rod down a rabbit path. 

In retrospect, I think that finding the source of things is a good idea.  On the lower reaches of this spring creek, the water flows crystal clear through prairie land.  The channels, undercuts and watercress offer safe haven for more trout than you would expect.  The culmination of these upper end trickles and rivulets, seepages and springs form a sweet little creek.  But, to come away with the "knowledge of the source" we paid dearly in what a friend of mine recently called "Brush Rage".
The first thing my wife said to be when I got home was, "Are those scratches on your neck?", followed by, "Is that blood on your ear?"

So we came and we saw and we soaked up the sun and cursed and bled, we let our hands hold cork instead of shovels and we almost got skunked.

We were 100 yards from my truck at the end of our long slog, when my line came tight and I landed a 12-13" brown. 

There was no small amount of irony in all of that. 

But then again, perhaps that fish needed to be earned and maybe it was attracted to the blood and elbow grease on my fly.

ways and means

aaaaaaahhhhhh!

Spring movement

Lunch yesterday (for somebody), Muddler today.

Headwaters

Don't forget to look around

This one held still for the shot...

Bushwhacking

upper reaches

The end.

Bamboo Fly Rods and The Don

It's January 3rd 2015 and I am standing in the inner sanctum....the workshop of one of the world's premier makers of bamboo fly rods.

Part 1.
It started one evening back in 1997 or 1998.  I was fishing the hex hatch after dark on one of our local spring creeks.  The run I was posted out on had either dried up with hatching mayflies or the hatch never came off, (1997 is much too far back for me to recall which was the case).   In the pitch darkness, I stepped into a new run hoping to find splashing and slurping browns.  I squinted my ears listening for a target and immediately heard fly line slicing through the air.  The owner of this fly line, politely gave notice that I had stepped into his run.  A little startled, I quickly apologized and climbed back onto the bank.  The voice said, "It's OK the hatch is over", and waded across to join me for the hike back to our waiting cars.  In the glow of the streetlight, I finally got a glimpse of the owner of the fly line.  I couldn't help but notice that this guy, about my age, was fishing a bamboo rod.  Two extraordinary things happened that night.  First, the guy with the rod has become one of my finest friends and fishing partners...around here we call him McSteel.  Second, McSteel introduced me to the craftsmanship, mystery, voo doo, and history of bamboo fly rods.

My first fish on a bamboo rod...a sweet little Charlie Jenkins on loan for a few casts from McSteel.  (Circa 1997?)

Although I am not a strict proponent of bamboo fly rods, they are an important part of my fly fishing story.  Starting that evening, I began paying attention to this segment of the fly fishing world, a sub-culture I previously thought was only for old guys, eccentrics and author John Gierach.

McSteel releases a nice brown. (Circa 1999)

Eventually, after I had scrounged and saved for months, I had enough to buy my first bamboo rod.  My friend, RS, was at that time a fairly well known national dealer of bamboo rods, so I drove to his place to check out my options.  I had planned to spend $300 on a "banty" (a modified, typically cut down and refinished version of a longer bamboo rod).  After looking through his wares he handed me a 7'6" 2 piece, 2 tip Orvis Manchester.  It was exactly what I was looking for except it was a couple of hundred dollars more than I had intended to spend.  Nervous and unsure, I called McSteel from RS's and told him what I was doing, what I was looking at and how much I would have to spend.  He asked me a few questions about the rod and then said, "Buy it, it's a good rod."  Still nervous and thinking about the peanut butter sandwiches I was going to have to live on for the next 4 months, I said, "Are you sure?"  Without pausing he said, "Yes I am sure...that rod used to be my Dad's." 

So I bought it.

The Orvis Manchester (middle rod - Circa 1998)

Side note:  It wasn't long after I proudly introduced my new Orvis Manchester bamboo rod to my then girlfriend of 7 years that she told me we were "over".  She apparently wasn't thrilled that I had forced her to "go dutch" on all of our dates but had found the means to blow that kind of cash on a fishing rod.  In contrast, my wife of 13 years bought me a bamboo rod at a garage sale when we were dating.  I was off fishing in Montana when she made the purchase.  When I saw her a week later, she handed it to me and said, "I thought you might like this...".    
 "Yes, Ma'am, I like it very much."

The garage sale rod from my wife hangs in a case above my tying desk

Today I'd have to go downstairs to count the bamboo rods I own.  It's not a vast collection but there are more than 3.  From the generosity of my good friend RS and others, I have been lucky enough to cast or fish, rods built by Payne, Dickerson, Leonard, Thomas & Thomas,  Orvis, Heddon, South Bend, Granger, Phillipson, Simroe, Jenkins, Thramer, Reams, Cunningham, Duck, and Schroeder....and these are just the names I can remember.

One name omitted from the list above deserves it's own story.
I got a call from RS one day back in the late 90's.  He asked if I had a 5 or 6wt line and reel with me. (I was at work).  As was usually the case in those days when I fished every day after work, I did.
Around noon that day he burst through my office door with a perfectly used aluminum rod tube, deposited it on my desk and said, "Fish this tonight."
When I got to the river that evening I uncapped the tube and pulled out an 8' Garrison.
I'm pretty sure I said out loud, "A #%^*ing GARRISON....he wants me to FISH a Garrison?"
I wasn't sure what it was going to cost me if I broke it but I strung it up and waded carefully.
I eventually loosened up and enjoyed the opportunity, caught a few fish and just plain enjoyed the hell out of that rod.
When I called him that evening to say thanks, he said, "...if you broke it? Well, I payed $6000 for it."

Sometimes it's perfectly easy to tell who your friends are.

The #%^*ing Garrison (Circa 2000?)

Truck full of cane (circa 2001)

In late 2000 I decided to order my first new bamboo rod.  I gave it a little thought but I already new what I wanted....7'6", 3 piece, 2 tip with a crisp snappy mod/fast action.  All roads led to Don Schroeder and the D.G. Schroeder Rod Company.  I placed the order and waited for Don to work his magic.

I've now owned that rod for 13 years and have never regretted my decision for a minute.
It's still as beautiful as the day I first pulled it out of the tube, it's taken some nice trout and gives me a great deal of satisfaction even when it's just sitting in my rod rack...waiting.

The maker of the that rod, Don Schroeder, is a guy who I have met on a handful of occasions, mostly at local fly fishing meetings.  Every time I talk to him he speaks with the kind of vibrancy that indicates that his heart is still into building rods, even after 30+ years.  (Make no mistake, his rods speak for themselves and all you need to do is hold one to get the same impression).  I've suggested off and on for the past 10 years (or so) that I'd like to stop in and check out his operation and he has always said, "Come by anytime."


Part 2.
I don't do New Year's resolutions, but I do bucket list items.
On my short list one thing stood out
1. Visit Don Schroeder and the D.G. Schroeder Rod Co.

When McSteel and I made plans to have our families spend New Year's Eve together, I told him that that there was something I wanted to do.  Earlier that week Don Schroeder had answered my email and said, "How about the afternoon of Saturday the 3rd?"  At 12:58 PM on the 3rd, McSteel and I pulled into his driveway.   He met us at the door and invited us in.

And, by "in", I mean "Inner Sanctum" in.

I wasn't sure what to expect over the years when I suggested a visit, or when I sent him the email, or when I was driving down to his place.  I can tell you what I wasn't expecting...full disclosure.

I suspected that guys like Don, who have spent a good chunk of their lives perfecting a process that is not only their passion but their livelihood, would be a very tight-lipped and secretive bunch.  I still think that is true, I just don't think that of Don....anymore.  Perhaps it's because McSteel and I are interested in the craft from a non-builder perspective or maybe Don is justifiably confident in his ability and doesn't see interest as a threat.  Maybe it's a little of both mixed with a big helping of Don is just a nice guy. Whatever the reason, he gave us the full apprentices tour.

He split cane, fired up his milling machine (that he built) and ran some cane strips through, showed us his new binding machine (that he built), the lathe (that he refurbished), a new tool that he made the week before (of which I will not describe), we discussed cork and turning handles, repairing cork, he gave us a demo on building two different versions of hollow built rods, talked about his signature reel seats and the process for building quads (4 sided bamboo rods) etc, etc...and on and on.

At the two hour mark I shook his hand and said, "Thank you for this. This is pretty special".

He said, "I don't want to keep you, but do you want to see the varnishing room?"
McSteel and I said, "Yes, Don, we do..."

From there we moved to his rod wrapping bench and then sat and shot the bull at his fireplace among his collection of paintings and the bamboo rods that he was building and /or repairing.

It was almost another two hours before we left.

With my mind blown from overload and appreciation, I drove home feeling that I had just been formally introduced to the soul in my D.G. Schroeder rod.

The bamboo rod business has special name for the guys that really make the rods they sell...they call them makers.  Don splits his cane, mills it, planes it, straightens, flames, glues, binds, builds the reel seats and reel seat hardware, glues and turns his own cork and wraps each guide...the only thing he doesn't make are the guides and ferrules.  His rods are exemplary works of craftsmanship and formidable fishing tools.

If you've never had the pleasure of casting a well made bamboo rod, consider this your prompt.
Add it to your bucket list.  And, if you are ever in the market for one of the finest bamboo rods made in the world today...call Don Schroeder.  You will get what you pay for and the soul is included in the price of the rod.

http://www.dgschroederrod.com/
 
During the tour of his shop I asked Don if I could snap a few photos, (not wanting to impose, I left my camera in the car and just carried my phone).  Don said, "... shoot away".  
I have more shots than these....but you can't see them.

The inner sanctum

Don Schroeder, talking cork.

My D.G. Schroeder Rod

Blued and milled at his shop

Works of art...

Almost as much fun to look at as they are to fish.

My sincerest thanks to Don Schroeder for the time, the tour and the beautiful fly rod.