I can't get my trout video to transfer from Photobucket (they're a pain in the ass) so here is the direct link. I'd paste the video here but for some reason, I can't do that without being directed back to my pages at Photobucket.
http://s32.photobucket.com/albums/d41/RiverRat77/FishingPics/?action=view¤t=1e9aead0.pbr
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Browns on "The Fork"
Well, I had been suffering from a severe bout of cabin fever. I knew I wanted fishing, since I have my "limit" of duck meat in the freezer and need to make some room for stuff the family will actually eat. Because of that, hunting was out and the season was over the day prior anyway. So... where to fish? I entertained thoughts of the Provo, a couple smaller creeks I know of or my old reliable, Diamond Fork. I figured, well, the Provo will have tons of folks, the smaller creeks 
may very well be snowed in and are harder gaswise to reach so the Fork it is. The temps were warm when I left the house but it didn't take too many miles of driving to realize I might have a heck of a Southeast wind to deal with... blowing right out of the canyons. When I got to Spanish Fork, it was especially brutal. Anyway, I drove the truck through the galeforce winds up to my turnoff. Much to my dismay, the areas I actually wanted to fish had no available parking. All of the parking areas had been bypassed by the plows and now, you couldn't even get off the road without driving into a foot and a half of powder. I finally pulled over into a spot that had been previously attempted by a braver soul than me.
may very well be snowed in and are harder gaswise to reach so the Fork it is. The temps were warm when I left the house but it didn't take too many miles of driving to realize I might have a heck of a Southeast wind to deal with... blowing right out of the canyons. When I got to Spanish Fork, it was especially brutal. Anyway, I drove the truck through the galeforce winds up to my turnoff. Much to my dismay, the areas I actually wanted to fish had no available parking. All of the parking areas had been bypassed by the plows and now, you couldn't even get off the road without driving into a foot and a half of powder. I finally pulled over into a spot that had been previously attempted by a braver soul than me.I parked, trying to get off the road as much as possible and donned the waders. Can I just say... I love my breathables. They're so much more comfy than my neoprenes with one definite advantage... they're not full of holes. Anyway, Buddy (my dog) and I got rigged up and made our way down to the little bridge. I fished underneath the bridge and in the hole directly above with a minnow and got nothing.... oh well. It was bitter cold down on the river but thankfully, there wasn't much wind. A bit further up the river I figured I'd try a little different action on my minnow.... since the cold likely was making the fish pretty sluggish, I figured a dead drift might work better than the typical jerky, dying minnow look I try to emulate with my plastics. Sure enough, didn't take long and there was a big sag in the line. When I lifted the rod tip, I felt the throb at the other end that signified... FISH ON!! The fish came up and I was ecstatic as I saw it was a really nice brown, probably 17 inches or so. That excitement suddenly turned to bitter disappointment as the fish rolled his way into a current seam and because of the torque on his lip and the single hook, he came unbuttoned. For a second, I honestly thought.... that might have been the only fish of the day. As it turned out, that wasn't quite correct.
I fished further upriver, catching nothing. I did switch over to my go-to lure, the gold #2 Mepps spinner. That lure has NEVER let me down. If I'm having a bad day, I throw on the spinner and the fish magically appear. Anyway, I postholed my way upstream, taking advantage of several riffles to cross back and forth in the stream, while trying to keep my canine sidekick from getting in the water much at all. He looked like he'd been hooked up to a power line, as much shaking and shivering as he was doing over on the bank.... poor guy was probably freezing. He dried off eventually (thank god for Lab coats) and the powder didn't do much except clump in his fur. We made it upstream past a big rock wall and came to "THE HOLE". This was a spin/bait fishermans dream hole. There was a current seam running in on a line perpendicular to the hole. It ran up against the far bank and turned 90 degrees to run under the root wad of an old, old willow tree. The water here was deep, slow, and green. If you can find that kind of hole, there is ALWAYS a big trout that has taken up residence, usually along with several smaller trout as their entourage. I cast into this hole with that spinner over and over, trying to get the perfect drift and spin.... hanging up in the tree about four times before I finally nailed it. I felt the lure spin as soon as it hit the current, and it was swept right under the tree. I pulled it out and suddenly felt the electric jolt that told me something had just slammed the lure. I raised the rod and sure enough a big healthy brown trout came rolling out from under the tree. I worked the fish downriver until I could get my camera out and take some video. As I fiddled with the damn zipper on the camera case, the fish swam under the undercut bank and wedged my line against some ice on the bank. Damn.... didn't want to lose this one too. I finally got the camera set up and rolling and took a two minute video of the catch and release. Elation set in... the skunk had been banished for yet another day. I took advantage of the moment to capture some pictures of the river and the surrounding area. After Buddy and I took a short breather, we moved on to check 
out more water.
out more water.As we moved upstream, we got into some really skinny water. It became painfully apparent that we'd have to cover some ground and find the deep holes to get into fish using my spinner. They just weren't in the shallows or weren't looking to eat some golden metal that day. Along the way we flushed up some Mallards (I've got to keep that in mind for next season) and saw tracks from all sorts of critters. The only sound was the river and the crunching of the snow... peaceful, especially after escaping the smoggy, grinding, noisy grip of the city. I wound up finding a couple more pools 
with willing adversaries and although I didn't take any video, I did get some still shots of the fish. The sun had moved higher in the sky by then so I started looking for a way out to the road for the walk back to the truck. I came around a final bend and caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked closer and sure enough, there were turkeys feeding along the bank of the river. I told Buddy to sit, whipped out the camera and got some good shots of the toms/jakes wandering along. I don't know if they saw me, heard me, or whatever else, but they suddenly took a line away from me heading up into a campground and up the hill. Buddy and I forded the river, walked over and began the pursuit... I wanted to see if I could get some closer shots. As it was, we didn't gain any ground on them so I took some final pictures as they wandered up and over the hill. At least if I get a turkey tag, I know where to start looking I guess. I waded through the melting snow up the hill and started walking back to the truck when I realized, I couldn't feel my toes. It 
must have been colder than I thought.... As we walked back, we passed a family out creating a toboggan run down the steep side of a snowy hill. Another vehicle also pulled up and deposited a fly fisherman who went down the bank and proceeded to work water I'd passed not fifteen minutes earlier. I silently wished him luck and kept walking. As I got back to the truck, I regained some semblance of feeling in my feet... enough that I felt good about getting out of the waders and putting shoes on. Driving out, I almost hit a couple of does. One looked like a young of the year deer but I couldnt' be sure. I slowed down, took a snapshot and kept on 
driving. It was getting on in the afternoon and I knew my daughter would be waiting. As it turned out, she wasn't home so I spent an uneventful hour fishing the Provo river. It was really not even close to the same, as a shopping complex and a three story bank of condos glared down at my endeavors on a "city" stream. I honestly didn't put much effort into the time killer area.... it was actually disheartening to have to leave the peace and quiet of the mountain canyons for a polluted, trash riddled, overfished section of what used to be a very decent fishery. It sure has changed in the six years since I've lived there.... but I guess thats the nature of things these days. I bid goodbye to my old friend, the Provo, and headed home, trying to outrun the oncoming storm.
with willing adversaries and although I didn't take any video, I did get some still shots of the fish. The sun had moved higher in the sky by then so I started looking for a way out to the road for the walk back to the truck. I came around a final bend and caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked closer and sure enough, there were turkeys feeding along the bank of the river. I told Buddy to sit, whipped out the camera and got some good shots of the toms/jakes wandering along. I don't know if they saw me, heard me, or whatever else, but they suddenly took a line away from me heading up into a campground and up the hill. Buddy and I forded the river, walked over and began the pursuit... I wanted to see if I could get some closer shots. As it was, we didn't gain any ground on them so I took some final pictures as they wandered up and over the hill. At least if I get a turkey tag, I know where to start looking I guess. I waded through the melting snow up the hill and started walking back to the truck when I realized, I couldn't feel my toes. It 
must have been colder than I thought.... As we walked back, we passed a family out creating a toboggan run down the steep side of a snowy hill. Another vehicle also pulled up and deposited a fly fisherman who went down the bank and proceeded to work water I'd passed not fifteen minutes earlier. I silently wished him luck and kept walking. As I got back to the truck, I regained some semblance of feeling in my feet... enough that I felt good about getting out of the waders and putting shoes on. Driving out, I almost hit a couple of does. One looked like a young of the year deer but I couldnt' be sure. I slowed down, took a snapshot and kept on 
driving. It was getting on in the afternoon and I knew my daughter would be waiting. As it turned out, she wasn't home so I spent an uneventful hour fishing the Provo river. It was really not even close to the same, as a shopping complex and a three story bank of condos glared down at my endeavors on a "city" stream. I honestly didn't put much effort into the time killer area.... it was actually disheartening to have to leave the peace and quiet of the mountain canyons for a polluted, trash riddled, overfished section of what used to be a very decent fishery. It sure has changed in the six years since I've lived there.... but I guess thats the nature of things these days. I bid goodbye to my old friend, the Provo, and headed home, trying to outrun the oncoming storm.Tuesday, January 15, 2008
2007.... Looking back
Well.... it was a year.... wasn't it? I've just opened this account after some serious, or not so serious, reading and motivation from my internet friend Bryan. The guy writes blogs that are so entertaining to me that I decided to set up one of my own. Its just basically going to be my exploits in, out, and around the Utah outdoors. But... before we get ahead of ourselves, lets take a look back. This should shed a little light on who I am, what I do and how I do it.
I'm a foot soldier....in regard to fishing and hunting. I try and avoid all the modern conveniences that most people these days have come to rely on.... either out of necessity, laziness, wanting to have the best, newest gear, or whatever else motivates them to spend their uber-amounts of money on the things so few can actually really afford. Last year, I fished early on with a guy, but because of personal differences, life led us down different paths. We river fished a lot, pond fished a little and when it was all said and done, I wound up fishing alone, which honestly, was as it should be. I don't have any regular fishing partners.... its been a rather solitary pursuit for me 
with a few rare exceptions. However, on those rare occasions, I managed to get a few pictures of myself to remind me just how disgraceful my mug can actually be. I spent a fair amount of time on one of my favorite rivers early on, with a few trips to other spots here and there. I managed to hook a few bass, some bluegills and of course, lots of brown, rainbow and a few Cutthroat trout. The days early on were cold, but over time, spring and then summer decided to make its presence known, according to the usual tick tock of Mother Nature's timepiece. Along with the trout bug, the bass flu needed its turn and so of course, I willingly obliged. Desert ponds called my name, beckoning with tantalizing overtures and of course, I couldn't resist a chance for nice bass in 
skinny water or on topwater lures. I took friends with me, something I might not do again with one exception, but it was fun while it lasted. I never did completely step away from my trout fishing roots however and spent a few summer days as well plying my trade on water containing some of the most gorgeous browns and bows I'd ever seen. Over the whole summer I did a little exploring, running into unexplored (at least by me) country, fishing various rivers and ponds, some new, some as comfortable as an old shoe and had a great time scratching the itch the fishing bug stirs up in a lucky few of us. I also managed to get my daughter out on her first float tube trip with me... which was reason for excitement all in itself, since she helped catch and land one of the biggest catfish she's ever hooked into. I think I may have created a convert. Anyway... as the summer passed, I knew it was time to start looking toward fall and the transformation from fisherman to hunter of game, both big and small.
with a few rare exceptions. However, on those rare occasions, I managed to get a few pictures of myself to remind me just how disgraceful my mug can actually be. I spent a fair amount of time on one of my favorite rivers early on, with a few trips to other spots here and there. I managed to hook a few bass, some bluegills and of course, lots of brown, rainbow and a few Cutthroat trout. The days early on were cold, but over time, spring and then summer decided to make its presence known, according to the usual tick tock of Mother Nature's timepiece. Along with the trout bug, the bass flu needed its turn and so of course, I willingly obliged. Desert ponds called my name, beckoning with tantalizing overtures and of course, I couldn't resist a chance for nice bass in 
skinny water or on topwater lures. I took friends with me, something I might not do again with one exception, but it was fun while it lasted. I never did completely step away from my trout fishing roots however and spent a few summer days as well plying my trade on water containing some of the most gorgeous browns and bows I'd ever seen. Over the whole summer I did a little exploring, running into unexplored (at least by me) country, fishing various rivers and ponds, some new, some as comfortable as an old shoe and had a great time scratching the itch the fishing bug stirs up in a lucky few of us. I also managed to get my daughter out on her first float tube trip with me... which was reason for excitement all in itself, since she helped catch and land one of the biggest catfish she's ever hooked into. I think I may have created a convert. Anyway... as the summer passed, I knew it was time to start looking toward fall and the transformation from fisherman to hunter of game, both big and small. The season had arrived for hunting.... I purchased a bow and began my first season as an elk hunter, actually closing the distance enough to launch a razor tipped arrow in a futile attempt to bring home the venison while instead sticking a trophy sized chunk of aspen. At least I was 
close... 40 yards away in fact. I almost coughed up my heart and handed it to the elk who had no idea I was even there. After the elk hunt, which created a drive in me to succeed at that sport, I moved on to upland game hunting. I began pursuing grouse in the mountains outside Heber, and in the Uintas. It was mostly an exercise in futility, although I did manage to harvest a few wild chickens along the way. I had done better the previous season, but wasn't very disappointed as I managed to struggle my way into some beautiful country in search of the forest jewels with the delectable white meat. Once the grouse season wound down due to snow in the high country, I began my pursuit of my other passion.... waterfowl. It was a good season to begin with, filled with new hunting places, decoys, geese, ducks and missed shots, especially early on. I couldn't have hit the broadside of a barn from the inside with the doors closed. At least it seemed that way pretty regularly. Frustration was the word of the day..... for many days in a row. 
Eventually, both through suggestion, an iron will to succeed, and time, the shot struggles were overcome and birds began to fall. I was also given some ice sleds by a generous guy from the other side of the mountain which led me into some of the most amazing hunting for ducks that I've ever done. I wound up with a few different species of ducks over the last two and a half months and I had special memories of every one. A few days of rest and I'd be back at em again. I managed to hunt over a "traveling decoy", handcarved for just this purpose, which was fun if for no other reason than the uniqueness of the experience. Its been a good year, but only leaves me looking forward to whatever treasures the future has in store.
close... 40 yards away in fact. I almost coughed up my heart and handed it to the elk who had no idea I was even there. After the elk hunt, which created a drive in me to succeed at that sport, I moved on to upland game hunting. I began pursuing grouse in the mountains outside Heber, and in the Uintas. It was mostly an exercise in futility, although I did manage to harvest a few wild chickens along the way. I had done better the previous season, but wasn't very disappointed as I managed to struggle my way into some beautiful country in search of the forest jewels with the delectable white meat. Once the grouse season wound down due to snow in the high country, I began my pursuit of my other passion.... waterfowl. It was a good season to begin with, filled with new hunting places, decoys, geese, ducks and missed shots, especially early on. I couldn't have hit the broadside of a barn from the inside with the doors closed. At least it seemed that way pretty regularly. Frustration was the word of the day..... for many days in a row. 
Eventually, both through suggestion, an iron will to succeed, and time, the shot struggles were overcome and birds began to fall. I was also given some ice sleds by a generous guy from the other side of the mountain which led me into some of the most amazing hunting for ducks that I've ever done. I wound up with a few different species of ducks over the last two and a half months and I had special memories of every one. A few days of rest and I'd be back at em again. I managed to hunt over a "traveling decoy", handcarved for just this purpose, which was fun if for no other reason than the uniqueness of the experience. Its been a good year, but only leaves me looking forward to whatever treasures the future has in store.
As the season winds down and I move into 2008, I look back with a fondness, a bit of regret, and a growing respect for my wife who allows me to feed the monster and satisfy my urges to get wild and run amok in the playground God has created for me. Utah is the only place I can imagine myself living because my body feeds off of the outdoors. Its where I go to relax, replenish my soul, and find an inner peace with myself. I don't let many into this inner portrait of me, but as the years go by, I can't help but wonder if some company wouldn't make it that much more enjoyable. I have one old friend who has been there with me.... and I wouldn't trade him for the world. I also have my wife and daughter, but outside of those three, access to my life is limited and for so long, I've liked it that way. Thanks to Bryan, who's open sharing of his outdoor experiences has prompted my own blog for sharing the outdoors with fellow readers, perhaps I can share a bit of knowledge here and there, while recording the experiences for posterity. Not that anyone would be interested, but who knows... someday somebody may look through the archives of my life and find a tidbit of interest to them, prompting them to pass the outdoors experience on to their friends and family.... without embracing and passing on the outdoors heritage, we have nothing and our legacy will die with us. Its time for me to grow past my own experiences and embrace the fact that I'm no longer the youngest generation and accept that its my responsibility to make sure I'm not the last to enjoy the places and things I've seen. I'm looking forward to being able to share and hope anyone who reads this shares that exhilaration that I'm trying to pass on with print and pictures.
The Rat
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