Capt Crunch

I new I shouldn't put in, but I wanted it.. I mostly do what I want, and often pay for it, this one will cost me days, if not weeks. The Trask was too low to drift, at least for my 1985 wood drifter, The last time I drifted it was already too shallow.. but I did it anyway. First shallow run Eggs called a rock river left, I dodged right, CRUNCH.. "man that was a good one" Eggs said with a tone of worry in his voice, I faked it and said it was cool, ive hit harder. We pulled up on a gravel bar and fished the lower run, the hit weighed heavy on me, I walked back to the boat to grab a pack of smokes only to be met by 2 inches of water in the bottom of the boat. This is a fatal hit I thought. I pushed the boat 50 yards upriver to the last boat slide and we hauled out and headed To the NF Nehalem and fished out the day on foot. Put her in the garage today, 4 inch hole almost all the way through.. new bottom or burn.. Caron voted burn, folks have been telling me for a long time that im a glass or metal boat kinda guy, but only wood has warmth, life.. I won't abandon a friend... the war wagon will live again, I owe it to it...... its my boat, my friend, and it is a legend-

How To Cast a Fly..

It was in the Times of Atari and the great cola wars, a time of termoil in America, Ford Verses cheverolet, Mcdonalds or Burger King..Glass vs graphite.. no one in Indiana even knew about the middle east, gas just miraculously showed up at the gas n'go. But I was aware of none of this, I was eleven and had a bike a fly rod and a copy of the curtis creek manifesto, and thats all I had, Al Gore had not invented the internet yet, youtube was non-existant, and blogs were places in Scotland they went to get peet to fertilize those ridiculously nice gardens they seem to have everywhere. I was casting wooly buggers in the little Spokane river to mountain whitefish that I just couldn't seem to get to stick when I heard a voice behind me, Lord, you are only casting 10 feet and the tightest point in your loop is 19 feet over your head! The 30 something year old know it all then stepped into the silt choked river and walked up next to me.. "cast" I was struck with a bit of terror, "im gonna hook this fool if he doesn't move" I thought, but he was a rather intimidating guy so I did. I lifted my rod and began my cast long before any of my line was off the water, powering back I felt the sudden creepy thud of his hand as he grabbed my wrist and held it, my line shot up and fell all around us snaking in the water between our legs and then down stream. "did you feel that?" he said.. "feel what?" I replied.. "thats my point" He then told me to follow him up onto the gravel road that followed the river took my rod and began stripping line off to begin a cast. I freaked out a little after his first cast as he lifted the rod tip my line raced across the ground like a snake shooting gravel and dust as it lifted.. " your gonna ruin my flyline!" I shouted. He looked down and smiled, "its a shakesphere level line.. it was ruined when it left the factory" he said with a sideways smile. We worked for probably an hour and my cast improved more than it had in a year.. he taught me how to sense the rod and feel the stroke, my loops tightened, my distance improved and my cast all of a sudden had presentation, something it had lacked entirely previously. He dissapeared for a few minutes as I kept practicing my new found talent and then I noticed he was standing beside me once again. "Thank you, I don't really have anyone to show me any of this stuff" I said with a little bit of shame and embaracement in my voice.. " I really don't know anything about fly fishing" He reached over and handed me a Pflueger Medalist 1494 1/2 flyreel loaded with a wf line, "Practice, stay diligent, and trust the proccess.. thats everything you need to know about flyfishing" and then he walked away... I thank him, the first person I ever met who loved flyfishing the way I do, enough to help another fisher improve himself, I hope someday he finds this blog-

Purist

It must be nice, discovering such a handy niche.. a decision has been made, evolution stop.. comfort, I would love to try your way, seems highly effective but unfortunately I am a purist.
Purist, possibly an early Galic term for fear, anxiety, lack of self confidence. A tool that explains away failure, lack of achievment or simply the desire to no longer evolve.. what a tool, a word like a mother with a lazy child, enabler.. I have been reading quite a bit about fly fishing and the pure side, the enchanted side, those that have apparently held high court with their inner emotions and made sense of the conflict that every predator must have. He looks to the bead as if its another mans wife, to go there would violate high church, High Church.. I actually heard someone refer to fly fishing as high church... really? We must after all stand for something or fall for anything..right? these are the thoughts and words of wolves in sheeps clothing that in the end wish to send young boys into battle, their battle, but not their children.. I would be careful how firm I stood on any belief that involved a group or class of people, that is how you end up holding a gun, or driving someone different from you to the edge of town.. get out, this is Purist town... flosser.

While I am just a childish 40 ( well actually 13094 days old ) I have learned that for the most part credo's and boxes rarely teach the world much or make anyones life better, I have enjoyed alot of the reads and conversations Ive encountered as of late but have drawn nothing from them, just fishing themed episodes of the Kardashians, conflicted folks with issues they can't work out.. issues that are simply non-issues, Ive come to the conclusion that these folks who appear to have figured it all out, while knowing a great deal about conflict and over analization.. know nothing about what fly fishing is really about- tight lines.

Washington Razor Clamming

Every Year around Christmas Washington state has a clam dig, in our family going is a tradition. I love the beach in the winter, dusk, and all the exited clammers digging for some of the biggest razors around, some up to 8 inches! I cannot applaud the state of Washington enough for the amazing job they do managing this resource, thats not something we get to say about goverment agencies very often. Living on the Washington- Oregon boarder, and the very reasonable fee for a non resident shellfish license allows me to enjoy one of the best managed clam digs probably in the country. I wish Oregon would adopt the same managment plan for our clams so we could enjoy the same qaulity of expirence and resource, by only sacraficeing a little bit of opportunity. When I see the photos of Grace so small standing amongst all those holes, and know that this resource will be here healthy and available for her to share someday with her children.. makes me smile. Merry Christmas, Brad

Why Steelhead don't die when they spawn

One of the most common questions new Steelheaders ask me is why they do not die like other anadromous fish after they spawn, Ive heard alot of different opinions on this subject.. but this Salish Legend has always been my favorite explanation. Enjoy-

Many Steelhead survive spawning, and here is why; One winter when the Salish people were starving, Raven searched for help, and came across salmon woman and her children, Sockeye, Chum, King, Humpy, Coho and Steelhead. Salmon woman married Raven and gave her children to the Salish so they would not starve to death.

In time, and becouse salmon were abundant, The people forgot what it was like to be hungry. After the Salish began to abuse the salmon, the salmon woman reclaimed her children and fled with them to the longhouse of her father the Salmon Chief under the ocean. She vowed never to return and starvation soon returned to the people.

But Raven begged his wife to forgive the people and return to them with her children. She did, but not without changing her childrens lifecycle to teach the Salish a lesson.

Before, the salmon lived year-round, at the mouth of the river, near the Salish village. But Salmon Woman changed it so that the salmon would spawn upriver, then return to live in the ocean, and not return to the Salish untill spawning season.

The people also were ordered never to go up river to harvest the salmon. They could only take the salmon during the harvesting moons.

However, the message did not reach everyone, especially Bear- the brother of Raven. During a year that Bears wife was pregnant, Raven did all the hunting and fishing for Bears familybecouse a woman pregnant with the gift of life was powerful and treasured.

During this time, Bear became restless. He went up river and began to harvest salmon. Each species he touched died off and floated down stream. Worried about starving, the Salish called Raven to come find his brother. Raven knew that Bear was up river in the salmon spawning beds and Raven quickly raced to stop his brother. But on arrival, Bear had touched every species of salmon exept the steelhead.

So, unlike other salmon, steelhead can survive the full life cycle while other salmon return to spawn and then die in the spawning beds-

O.B.N writing prompt "save Bristol Bay"

"wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway; From my ruthless throne I have ruled alone for a million years and a day; Hugging my mighty treasure, waiting for man to come, Till he swept like a turbid torrent, and after him swept... the scum.

This weeks writing prompt asks us how we feel about the proposed pebble gold mine in Alaska's Bristol Bay, Well cop a sqaut and I will tell you a little more about who the Riverkeeper is. 23 years ago I was just 17 and a high school drop-out, my life was going nowhere. My Father a veteran of the Vietnam war decided that I would join the military and become a responsible young man.. I had other plans. I borrowed $300 from my best friends mom and caught the next flight to Dutch Harbor Alaska, the plan was simple, get a job on a fishing boat, make a grip of cash and head into the interior and look for gold. I wasn't green by any means to prospecting, both of my grandfathers had made a respectable living at it in Idaho and Nevada and had taught me much about it... fishing I was green at, and it took me 2 years to make only 30 thousand dollars.

"No theres a land have you seen it?
It's the cussedest land that I know,
From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it, to the deep death like valleys below.
Some say God was tired when he made it;
Some say its a fine land to shun;
Maybe; but there's some who would trade it,
for no land on earth-and im one.

4 years later I was working on a combination vessel trawling flatfish and king crab fishing, and knocking down 6 figures in 8 months a year. Sounds good huh? well the 30-50% by-catch rate trawling was taking a toll on me, and I found myself having too many beers one night and contemplating the fact that my soul was in danger. I made a comment to a federal observer that "why shouldn't I do it.. its legal, and someone else would just take my place.. me taking a stand means nothing" he placed his hand on my shoulder, smiled and said, "every snowflake in an avalanche pleads not guilty" The next morning I headed to the airport after quiting a job that made me 4 times the money my own father made a year. At the airport my flight was delayed, once again drinking like a sailor I struck up a conversation with another patron, told him my story and whoes... and flew home. 2 months later the same guy called me at home and offered me a job as a sablefish and Halibut longliner.. a sustainable fishery he called it.. I took it, now Im a member of the crab coalition, and the deep sea fishermens union and I am politicaly active in protecting the fisheries from others.. and myself, I work 4 months a year and unless the sky falls will be retired at 45 years old. I did not speak with my father for 13 years, and now he is proud to claim me as a son. Alaska has given me a life, futer, friends a home, and redemption, it is my real home.

"lofty I stand from each sister land, patient and wearily wise,
with the weight of a world of sadnessin my quiet, passionless eyes;
Dreaming alone of a people, dreaming alone of a day,
when men shall not rape my riches, and curse me and go away;
Making a bawd of my bounty, fouling the hand that gave-
Till I rise in my wrath and sweep on their path and stamp them into a grave

Alaska and her fisheries have given me everthing I have, I worked my way from a "neck-down unit" to a citizen in my industry. I owe Alaska for everything I am, my character, values, and the ability to call myself a man and an outdoorsman... she is like a mother to me... You ask "how I feel about the pebble mine and what it will do to Alaska"... my name is Brad Melville, and I AM Alaska- ( a special thanks to Robert service for my shameless use of his prose)

Fly Only Water North Umpqua

Ive been wanting to get down to the North Fork of the Umpqua for quite a while. So on monday I headed down. Arriving at the river at 6 a.m I parked and waited for the sun, hard raindrops pelted the roof and windows of my car adding fuel to the exitement of a day spent alone steelhead fishing probably the most famous steelhead river in the world. At 6:30 I decided to gear up, as I

rigged my rod I realized that I had brought nothing but 8lb fluoro leader, the fish here are natives and often large so I was a little bummed to have to work with less than 10 or 12.. but ive done it on many clear water days so I didn't worry about it... this would come back to haunt me. Walking down the river trail that runs basicly the whole upper length of the river I dropped down into a likely spot and whipped my black muddler minnow out into the sexiest tailout ive cast to in a while, third cast, as the fly began to lift in its turn "fish on"! and then fish off, oh well I though.. 8 more hours to put something together. I moved down the river and 45 minutes later Big fish on! I played him to the bank but stumbled in the landing, dropped him and the 8 lb line, too tight of a drag and the telephone pole like action of my IM6 Sage 8 wt and I was out another fish and my only black muddler. Tried some other intrueder style flies only to go back to the bull pen for another black pattern, lets make it a stonefly nymph I thought.... very good move, 4 more steelhead and a line cut just about to the bone by dark, and about 8 12-20 inch cutthroat.. but never put my hand on a steelhead, and also never saw another fisherman.. I love the North Umpqua this time of year, nobody above steamboat, I owned the joint. I just can't help but think if I would have used 10 lb fluoro and one of my glass rods there would be a picture of a steelhead here for you to enjoy, love that tippet protection. But I did enjoy sending my flies all the way to the warning track with some 9' graphite.. I loved im 6, but my arm reminds me just how much heavier it truely is than a new z-axis..enjoy the pictures