Spring Break Part 2

After a day off I was back at it on Tuesday. This time I headed to the George Washington National Forest. I knew there had been rain and the last of the snow was in the process of melting, but I wanted to take a chance and go to my favorite river in Virginia.

When I pulled onto the dirt road and saw the river across the bridge, I knew the water was a lot higher than normal, but not completely blown out. I drove through the mud and ice and came to my campsite which I knew no one else would be dumb enough to go to. It was cold, but the sun was out and provided a few more degrees of warmth to keep my hands from freezing the whole time.

After setting up camp, I rigged up my nymph and streamer rods and headed down the river for the usual 30-minute hike into less visited water because the rednecks tend to gaff all the fish at the start of the trail. I went to a spot my friends and I call the "honey hole" because we always catch fish there. Not this time. I saw one fish move under the water one time and that was it. I know the river pretty well, so I decided to fish the normally shallow portions of the river because I knew they would be good holding spots for the fish looking to get out of the strong current. Sure enough my first cast moved a nice Rainbow. He didn't take, but it was a promising sight. I worked further down with my nymph rod with nothing else happening, so I switched to the heavy artillery. First cast and a fish chases it all the way to my feet. Next cast same thing, and then on the third cast he nips at the tail and realizes he just ate a rabbit strip instead of a little fish, so he was done. After working another quarter mile or so casting and blasting I had a couple bumps and one hook-up before calling it a day. I had fished 5 hours and had to hike back about an hour to start the campfire before dark.

With conditions not ideal, things could have been worse, but certainly could have been better. That river has some beautiful fish, and it's sad to say, but I don't think I will be back there again after I graduate and move to Wyoming.

Day 2

The next morning is brutally cold. Our water outside the tent is frozen, along with my toes. After taking our time getting up and breaking camp we decide to head back down the stream. Walking across the mountains hoping to run into the trail does not seem like the best plan of action.

We make our way back and fish along the way. The water was low, and I was teaching my friends how to fish for the first time, but we pulled out a couple pretty natives. One of my friends caught the first one, his first ever on a fly rod, and was pretty stoked about it. I was showing my other friend how to cast and put it in a certain spot, and right as I laid it down my hare's ear disappeared in the mouth of a Brookie.

"And that's how it's done," I said in a teacher/student way trying to hide the 'did that just happen' look on my face. "Someday you will learn grasshopper."

As we finally hit the gravel trail and make it to the end, we see another trail crossing the stream. Upon further inspection we see a cement pole right in front of us that says, "Furnace Mountain Trail" in little letters. It was literally 50 yards from where I parked my truck. We couldn't believe it, but we kind of could. In my life I have learned that one word describes things that happen to me on a regular basis; typical. That's all I could say as we headed back to my truck feeling satisfied that we blazed our own trail for a day, and only a little embarassed that we never set foot on our intended path. But hey, that's how life goes sometimes.

Spring Break Pt. 1

As most of the kids at my school were heading to the airport for the Bahamas and Jamaica, myself and two buddies from the rugby team were double-checking all of our gear for the hiking trip into Shenandoah National Park. After a fair amount of research we decided on doing a 20-mile loop called Furnace Mt. Trail. That was the plan, originally.

We meet at my house at 8 the next morning, load up everything in my truck and hit the road. We're excited to finally be doing it instead of talking about it. About an hour into the two and a half hour drive I realize I forgot my jacket. When you are hiking in the winter in the mountains, that is one of the worst things to forget. Somehow, I did it.

I wasn't about to turn back, I'll figure something out I said. We pull onto the trailhead running alongside Madison Run, a beautiful Virginia brookie stream. I could tell the water was a little low, but that was no big deal. The real fishing was supposed to start when we got to Paine Run on the second day. We head up the gravel trail and look for our 'pull off'. We see a cut trail and decide to take it. Five hours later after bushwacking through thorns and crossing Madison about 8 times, we decide to call it a night. We'll just head due South and hit the trail tomorrow.

Spring Break

Those two wonderful words elicit feelings of relaxation, vacation, and usually drunken debauchery. However, this Spring Break will be my last in the college world. And I'm not doing what everyone else is.

Daytona Beach, Cancun, South Padre Island, and the Bahamas are the destinations I have been hearing most from my friends. It would be awesome to go down there and drink my kidneys into failure, but not this year. This year, I'm blazing a trail on my own in a direction I won't know until I'm there. It begins on Friday when myself and a friend are going to hike the Appalachian Trail until Monday, and fish whenever we run into a stream that looks worthy. But which ones don't?

Then I'm out on my own. The rest of the week I will camp and fish by myself whenever I want, and wherever I want. There are a few choice rivers in Virginia I will look to make it to, but nothing is set in stone. I've got my Virginia Atlas, my truck, and my peace of mind to lead me down the road. I know March is not the most ideal month for fishing, but fishing is more ideal than doing anything else in any other month. I want to get into some Brookies in a mountain stream, and if I get to a tailwater with willing Rainbows and Browns then all the better. I'll be satisfied wherever I am, and the best thing is my expectations will be low because conditions are less than ideal. With Jim Beam in my flask, I will never be lonely, so I'm off in a week to do something different. I won't be following the pack like a group of lemmings heading for the cliff.

My pack is a group of two at the beginning, and then becomes one. Anything can happen, and I hope surprises come about. It's time for me to be by myself in the places that revive my spirit. Just me and the fish (and Jim Beam). It's go time.

Rugby and Flyfishing

Yesterday I got a private message on The Drake from a guy who saw my profile which lists rugby as one of my interests. He said he was a rugger as well. I was surprised to hear of another rugby player who also flyfishes. Anyone else out there?

It's a bit of a different sport. Actually, it's completely different. Are there any similarities? They are both dominated by men for certain. I know one difference. I played a rugby match today, and now I am all cut up and sore as shit. Unless I went hiking 5 miles and fell down a ravine, I don't think I've ever felt like that while flyfishing. Rugby allows me to get out my aggression and flyfishing allows me to relax. Two things I desperately need, and I know I'm not the only one. Saturday is a rugby day, and I try my best to kill people on the pitch as best I can. Sunday is a flyfishing day and I try my best to forget everything else in the world. I'm glad I have both because without either I think I would go insane. It's a great balance. Think about finding something to balance you out other than flyfishing. Perhaps your job does that for you because you hate it so much and maybe even get to yell at people. Sweet.

I will always need to flyfish, because it's my life, and I will always need to play rugby because if I didn't, I would probably be in jail or anger management.

What's Your Style?

Sometimes you just have to choose.

It often depends on what mood you're in. Do you want to fish elbow to elbow next to two guys and hope for a 10lb. Brown running out of a reservoir, or do you want solitude and a few tiny natives? I think deep down the pure spirit of fly fishing says to go for the little natives. And if asked on the record, the majority of flyfishermen would say that. Why would you want to sound like a combat loving bait chucker?

I've never been involved in combat fishing, and hope I never will be, but if that's the only game in town, and it's big game, would you do it? Everyone wants to land huge fish at a good rate, but does part of the spirituality get lost in the struggle to find a parking spot?

Some of my favorite memories are fishing the Shenandoah National Park in Virginia for native Brookies. I've had amazing days of relentless dry fly fishing on these tiny streams. The best part of the experience is being in the mountains really doing it the right way. And when I release the first native of the day I always think to myself, "You've got relatives that were here in this creek a hundred years ago, and you're still here now." It really connects you to way back when.

But releasing that 10lb. fish that perhaps spent its first two years swimming around in a hatchery tank doesn't look that bad either. The screaming reel and pounding forearms asking you to just pop the fish off for some relief is a pretty sweet feeling too. So when is it okay to walk down to the river and park your ass right between two other guys just waiting for the tug? I don't know if it is, but the fish in the river are pretty damn appealing. Most true anglers want to be just that, true to the sport. Combat fishing is not that. Those days where you can find solitude and big fish are the best, and some are fortunate enough to have a lot of those days. If you are, don't take it for granted because there's probably some poor slob across the country dodging flies all day just hoping for that one big hook-up, or that other guy in the mountains totally loving it for the 10th straight day, but in the back of his mind is saying, "Damn, I love this, but couldn't they be just a little bigger?"

Jointed Streamers

Using streamers with a joint and second body and hook has enormous advantages to fishing streamers. First, the second hook doubles your chances of catching a fish. If you are throwing a jointed streamer, it's probably going to be at least three inches long if not double that size. Often the streamer will be so big and such a good baitfish imitation that if the fish doesn't want to eat the pattern it will chase it out of its territory. Big Brown Trout often nip at the back of the fish to make sure they clear their territory. With a second hook in back that nip could turn into a sore lip and much worse for that trout.

The joint adds amazing movement to the pattern. The joint that connects the two body parts wiggles and the back end swings back and forth as the fly darts through the water. I love just watching the streamers move in the water. They really look like baitfish swimming around. The movement really helps to seal the deal on that fish that is still unsure of what it's looking at.

Tying a jointed streamer is difficult at first, and then not hard at all when you get the hang of it. Tie the first part of the fly the same way as a regular streamer with the exception of extending the pattern to a second part. Also, when tying on the first thread to the bare hook wrap it to the bend and then take a thick piece of tippet, I use 1x, some use tiny wire, and tie it into the bend of the hook where two pieces are hanging off the bend of the hook about 1 inch long. You want to tie the back section first. When the front section is complete you want to make sure the thread is wrapped to the back. Take the tippet and put it through the eye of the back hook. Then, wrap it back onto the bend of the front hook and wrap that down tightly with the thread. Using head cement on this part helps strengthen the bond. Also, for added weight it helps to put several beads that you would normally put on small nymphs on the tippet that makes the joint.

Jointed Streamers are probably my favorite fly pattern to fish when I'm looking for a day of exciting non-stop action. I cover every piece of water I can and usually churn up some pretty big fish. Cast and blast, baby.