Kenai River Rainbows

It always suprises me when I speak to die hard trout bums how few of them are aware of the Kenai rivers tremendous Rainbow trout fishing. I was driving up the highway heading to the Fred Meyer parking lot in Soldotna to meet my long time friend Ben of Trophy Drifters when I thought of a couple guys who I new were on the peninsula on a month long roadtrip. I dialed up Mike, "so I don't suppose you and your brother would want to fish Bows on the lower Kenai today" suprisingly they did and we all met at the designated location and headed off for some Monster Rainbow fishing.. and we were not let down. We didn't get started untill 10:00 a.m and with Ben having clients coming in at 4 we would have to cover alot of water fast. Minutes into the float Mikes 7wt bent into the cork and his backing was clearing the tip seconds later, it appeared that a 15+ lb bruiser could not resist the sexy chunk of rabbit fur that had passed by its face. The fish powered up and across river and wrapped a rock, Ben rowed to the point of exaustion but to no avail, in the heavy current the fish broke off and made his escape. The saddness was subdued moments later by a double of fiesty 18-20'' fish and the tone of the drift was set. We agreed that there would only be grip and grins with fish over 20", we almost instantly upped the bar to just REALLY big fish... and that was coming. We aggresively fished downstream of any of the cleaning stations and piles of dead King salmon carcasses in the river hooking landing and losing fish like crazy, must have had at least 6 or 7 doubles in a four hour float with around 40 fish brought to the boat. I fished the fiberhammer all day and it was a blast, my biggest fish was probably only in the 22" range but extremely fat, I ended up being the photographer for the day and never did get a glory shot of myself. Mike took M.V.P status with a sexy 28" fish tipping the scales at around 10lbs. All in all it was a very good day with tons of tugs and laughs.. and as always... I can't wait to do it again- If you would like more info on Ben and Trophy Drifters or just some info on how to fish the river without a guide feel free to e-mail me... I love talking fishing

Skated Chrome

I had been a dirt bag for days, hammering every seam with a bead, countless 18-20'' dolly Varden had fallen for my fraudulent offering of a free egg.. I was feeling dirty, the stink I had placed on the fiberhammer would take weeks of swinging to erase. As I walked back down the bank of the anchor river I saw a fish rise... a big fish, hmmmm he had a different style about him, class perhaps... early steel? Kneeling on the bank I began to dig into the deepest corner of my back pack, beer cans, ammo, redbull, smokes... streamer box, I studied my options, and pulled the trigger on the orange skating muddler, 5 minutes of chopping and rebuilding and I was dressed for success. Stripping line, poorly set anchor, and sloppy lob and the fly landed 50' cross bank down stream, the belly I had thrown instantly drug the muddler under, lifting my rod I yanked the belly back upstream... a train wreck of a cast, the fly poorly slid into a seam and I began to lift to go for a new anchor and a fresh begining.. and BAM! airshow and the battle was on! he drug me around and made more than a few good runs, slid through some fast water and I landed him in the next run... chrome.. how I ever caught him with the slop I was selling I will never know.. I guess flyfishing is alot like calling elk.... it doesnt have to be pretty, just in the right spot- tight lines

A tale of the Pacific Crest Trail... and a Brookie

It must be hard, married to a steelhead junky. Too much time passes between fishing sessions and we become, well.. wierd. Wandering the house saying obscure cryptic phrases... bet the waters good, counts are high... my lines gonna be all springy if I don't stretch it soon, subtle hints, hidden suggestions.. muted begging.. let me fish.. I NEED to fish... get some. So it was no suprise that out of fear for myself, her and my daughter that Caron suggested I find a friend and go fishing.. a flurry of emails and texts that could dump AOL flew out in the next ten minutes, 5 minutes later.. a bite, Eggs ( Erin, but arent fishing nicknames so much more interesting ) messaged back, "whats the plan?" simple, swingin for the steel on the Kalama or North Umpqua.. Im open to both, Eggs obviously understanding my need responded with " hey why don't we hike two and a half miles at 6500 feet to a puddle and fish for 4 inch brookies on the hottest day of the year" I stared at the message, sure, and then we could stop at my sisters house and have her read all the notes from her high school year books.. I waited several hours to respond, becouse strangely enough.. the thought of some stillwater spoke to me. Now I believe with all my heart that it is Eggs personal mission to wake up the 5wt fisherman that sleeps in my soul.. and he's decent at it. So I went downstairs and rolled a 4 wt around in my hand for a bit and responded back, shall we make it 5 a.m? it was a rodger on that and the game was set. As the day passed I fell further and further behind in preperations, life happened and I found myself not even ready to leave yet, I texted Eggs.. lets make it 4 and im not even gonna sleep.. another rodger. I left the house at 12 a.m, gas, and a 5 hour energy, chased by an Irish cream mocha out of the gut bomb machine I made the meeting location 2.5 hours later, ready for a couple hours of in the truck sleep. I lay back and closed my eyes only to be harrased moments later my some p.o.s in a white jeep... Eggs, he decided not to sleep either. So here we are in a gas station parking lot at 2:45 in the morning, almost 3 hours untill sunrise and a half hour away from the trailhead, we decided to get started anyway. We arrived at the trailhead on Santiam pass at around 3:15, the kick off point of our trek, I had already been up 20 hours.

I must admit with a little Boy Scout shame that the map we used was on Egg's android phone.. I guess its that age and it was handy. We hiked with the speed of men on the path of discovery.. adventure, today had to be good after all shortly after getting on the highway I had run a skunk staight to the devil with my truck.. smelled it all the way to Salem, the skunk was handled.. 2 in the chest, 1 in the head.. fishings gonna be hot! The trail to the lake winds through the B and B complex burn, and as you can imagine its dusty, as a mater of fact im still tasting it as I write.

We arrived at the lake in the dark and started inflating the tubes and stringing the rods chatting about what first light would bring. Eggs was starting out with a dry, I decided to start with a full sink and a crystal bugger, this would prove to be a mistake.. rusty trout fisherman I am. Within half an hour Eggs had raised a 6-7 inch fish and put the first mark on the game card, and then 3 more, I know this becouse each fish he would raise his hand with the appropriate number of fingers raised. My C B had rewarded me with simply 1 half hearted bump.

Two hours later I kicked to shore, relieved myself and went to the bull pen.. floater and dry's.. its what they want. I imediatly missed 3 fish on a BWO and then it got slow for another hour. the water was crystal clear with visibility to about 20 feet, so I added 2 feet of 7x fluoro greased it with floatant and tied on a different BWO pattern... and Crack! first ( and only ) fish of the day. A nice fish aswell.

It was time to go, I paddled back to the shore and left Eggs eating chicken as I headed for my truck. Now at 3 a.m my waders were comfortable for the hike, it was now 93 degrees in a forest fire burn, relentless. The walk out felt like a sentence, the green mile.. or should I say charred kinda green mile. It took me an hour and ten minutes to make it to the truck where I promptly downed a whole 93 degree gatorade that had been lying on the dash all day... I will never drink a purple gatorade again.. but it was wet. All in all Eggs kicked my ass 8 to 1... and I enjoyed every minute. By the time I arrived home I had been up for 38 hours.. and then made my family dinner, fishing can be tough business. Thanks Erin for dragging me up to altitude and schooling me, I needed it- oh, and Erin...my fish was the biggest,its qaulity.. not qaunity, right? - Tight lines-

One of the greatest posts ive seen..... family

Carp on the Fly: The John Day: It doesn't take much to make a memory when you are blessed with two kids like mine. All you need is time together, and wonderful things hap...

Another direction

Tonite I read a post on another blog that really hit home for me, it covered the basic feeling of not feeling the need to blog. To be honest I have tons of material and photos from the last two months but just havent formed or molded them into a post, time, the lack of it, or acomplishing other goals has caused me to neglect this blog. Ive recieved a few emails in the last couple weeks asking if everything is ok.. thank you for your concern, truth be told I have been focusing on another project that is closer to my heart... a book, for me, as im not sure who would wish to read it otherwise, the problem is I am a poor writer and frankly under educated for the task I have undertaken... great stories about steelhead, friends, bears and beer.. easy right? it is hard to put what is in my mind down on paper in the same fashion that the stories are in my heart. Im seeking higher education for this problem. I promise to write more in the near futer- Good fishin

Rogue Angels: Casting For Conservation

Rogue Angels: Casting For Conservation Please help fight for the fish... or do we have to ruin everthing?

940 Saturdays

There is a river in Idaho's panhandle where I first cast a fly, It seems like a lifetime ago and I suppose in many ways it was. Over the years my son Mat has often mentioned going up to the St Joe and fishing the very run where the 10 year old me first cut his teeth and became enchanted by the art of standing in a stream waving a stick. Time passes, closer rivers, the allure of chrome brite steelhead, finances.. all stood in as reasons to not go. Many times we fished close, bear hunted along it.. or simply disscussed it, made plans..and watched them fall apart. In May Mat turned 18, ending his career as my little boy.. follower.. he cut his own trail to the Joe and tangled with its famed Cutthroat, and won. He text messaged me some photos.. and my heart jumped with exitement, then sunk with saddness,of all the fishing days ive missed in my life, Ive never regreted missing missing one more than yesterday, I let 940 saturdays vanish to poor excuses, Someday I will take his son there.. if he has a son... I won't make the same mistake twice- Good Job Mat ( there are no photos of fish, it was near 90 degrees and he released them as quickly as possible )