Monday, November 12, 2018

Monday Morning Coffee- SCOF Edition November 12, 2018


Errrrgggghhhhppphhhtttt!!! Yawn, stretch, scratch, repeat- it's Monday, so let's have some coffee.

Yeah, I know a lot of Mondays have come and gone without a peep from me and you're wondering "Why now?" I ask "Why not?". So pull up a chair, look over your shoulder to make sure the boss isn't headed your way, and let's take a coffee break and get caught up.

All personal blogs seem to follow a similar arc- early days and small beginnings, the building of fame and following, and a tapering off period, which this blog appears to be in. Only the hardiest blogs survive and thrive, like Gink and Gasoline, and The Fiberglass Manifesto. Part of my problem has to do with my moving from Michigan to Georgia. This blog was very  much centered in my love of Michigan fishing, and it is tough to make a transition from one to the other. I also felt like I needed to take a break for a couple years and figure out where I'm at in life. It can be wearying to be a "public" figure in the age of social media. Maybe I'm not cut out for this. I know, cry me a river.

But the truth is, I love blogging and writing, and I'm slowly getting to know the fishing in my new Southern home. Some of it is different. Some of it is spectacular. Some of it really obscure.

I've been doing the obscure kind of fishing lately, hitting small local streams in search of brook trout. It involves the same backwoods bushwhacking I did in Michigan with a certain verticality mixed in. These mountain streams are tough. Instead of tag alders there's mountain laurel and rhododendron. Instead of beaver dams, there are waterfalls. But there are also brook trout. Definitely brook trout.

I didn't trout fish all summer because of the heat- I almost can't bear the thought of it when it's over ninety degrees out. Sometimes it is markedly cooler in the mountains, sometimes it is not. A couple months back I got a call from Dave Grossman asking if I would write something for Southern Culture On the Fly (SCOF for short) on the pursuit of brook trout. So, at great personal sacrifice I have pursued these noble fish whilst storming my brains out to think of what to write. It has been a labor of love with a smattering of fish to show for it, but I think you'll enjoy the result. The winter issue is due to drop today and so I hope you'll check it out.

Here there be brook trout


I'm leaving on a cruise this Sunday. If you scroll down just a little you'll find my write-up on my first bonefish experience from this time last year. This year I'm going back to Xcalak, Mexico for a rematch, and fishing Roatan, Honduras as well. I'll try to do some posts on that when I get back. I've written here and here on Gink and Gasoline about my experience at their bonefish school at Bair's Lodge, Andros Island. I've gotten through several personal hurdles over the last couple of years and plan to do more fishing and hunting in the future and I'm hoping to share some of that with you.

So please check out my latest article on SCOF if you will, and check out the other fine writing therein, as SCOF continues to be one of my favorite online magazines for its laid-back self-deprecation.

I don't know about you, but I'm out of coffee, so have a great week and spend some time outside if you get the chance.

Let's get after it.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

My First Bonefish- Some Premature Observations


Authors note: I wrote this a few weeks after returning from a cruise to Mexico in November, 2017. I didn't post it in a timely fashion, but still wanted to share it, so here it is.

Authors note 2: It seems I broke the photo card from this trip. Didn't know it was possible. Two months after this trip I went on a week-long trip with Louis Cahill in which the bonefish fully lived up to the hype.

The first flat was empty, and seemed so devoid of life that it caused me to question our guide. Alberto identifies as Mayan. He has been guiding since 1986, so I keep my own counsel and remind myself not to be impatient. This is a half day trip, my first for bonefish, so it is hard not to count the minutes. Alberto motors through the cut that separates Belize and Mexico, into the shallow expanse  that is Chetumal Bay. He kills the motor at the first mangrove shoreline, and immediately we spot forked tails dancing above the surface.

I have been on a cruise ship for five days now, and as enjoyable and relaxing as it has been, I really needed this adventure. I ran the track on the upper deck the first morning (four laps= 1 mile) and we snorkeled in Cozumel and then the barrier reef at Belize on consecutive days, so I've gotten some exercise. But being here, on the front of a panga, scanning the shallow water for shadows and tails is where I need to be.

Our final stop of this cruise is in Mahahual, Quintana Roo, Mexico. The cruise lines have built a port there in an attempt to wring yet more money out of its credulous passengers. You hope that some of the locals are benefiting from all this, but once you leave the tchochke farm that is the cruise port, you find yourself surrounded by a grittier reality that makes you think all the profits from the tiki bars and shops selling rubber dog shit are just a front for said cruise lines. But I'm being cynical.

It's an hour taxi ride, mostly through mangrove swamp and jungle. Our driver has to swerve to avoid the chachalacas strutting in the road. We also see a fox and a wild pig. When you run out of good road you have reached Xcalak, a tiny village on the Mexican frontier with Belize. Here there be bonefish, and Costa de Cocos, the beach resort we have booked our fishing through.

I brought a rod with me on the ship, but then I read that they provide gear. I didn't trust my reel, and so my gear stayed on the ship. There are two TFO rods on the panga, and luckily one is rigged for a lefty. Some notes about the rod- it's heavier than my TiCRX, and the plastic is still on the cork. I'll get back to that later.

We beach the boat next to mangroves, but those first tails disappear. I make the mistake of casting to swirls that turn out to be needlefish, and learn to wait on Alberto. We cross a small creek dumping cold water into the flat, and I wait for Alberto to move the boat. I can see tails dancing further and further down the shore. But as we resume our slow progress up the shore chasing tails, small groups of grey shadows dance over the sand in our direction, and Alberto says what I want to hear, "one o'clock, fifty feet. Cast!".

And I blow the first two shots. Too short. Too close. But the third time is the charm, despite my conking the lead two fish on the head and nearly blowing the school out again. Three twitches of the fly and a bonefish turns sideways. I soft-pedal the hook-set, and I'm attached to a bonefish in spite of myself. It cuts a zippy half-circle before heading straight away from me, but it stops its run before it gets to my backing. He quickly comes to hand, a beautiful silvery fish. I would say bonefish are long on speed and short on endurance. And there it is- my first bonefish. It ate a Crazy Charlie I tied myself before the trip. Tip: don't come here without all the flies you'll need.

After that I blow a perfect shot at about forty fish headed our way because I don't see the lead fish over a dark patch of bottom. Right after that a small pod turns back. It's a forty foot cast, and two strips later I'm hooked up. Another bonefish, another merry fight that ends quickly.

When we reach the end of the mangrove point we are following we turn back. The tide had turned almost from the moment we first stopped the boat, and the fish seem to be slipping into deeper water, no more tails dancing above sand. They are still within casting distance, but we have to look harder for silver flashes over the darker grass.

The next fish I am proud of, because I saw it before Alberto and surprised him with the cast.

"No!" he said, then "yes, yes, yes" and "three feesh!" right as I hook up. I watched those three fish peel out of the school and up over the sand. This one almost made it to the backing but stopped short. We pause to land and release the fish, and savor such a beautiful moment. We are barefoot, standing calf deep on soft white sand. It is about 78 degrees, with a steady, pleasant breeze. There is no one else around, and all we hear is the lap of waves and the occasional splash of fish. It is perhaps the most pleasant moment of the entire year.
Hooked up on a good bonefish with Alberto giving encouragement
Back on the panga we eat the sandwiches from the cooler and sip on water. Alberto wants to pole into the wind. At one point I see two tails and Alberto shouts "permit!" but we are on top of them and they are gone before I can cast. A few casts later, a bonefish takes and comes off before I realize it has eaten.

After the sandwich I reapplied sunscreen, and now, with greasy hands, the plastic on that rod cork has become a liability. Alberto keeps shouting "two o'clock, seexty feet!", but my hand is slipping so bad on that damn plastic that I cant get any juice into my cast. I don't know why I didn't just cut the plastic off. Who leaves that on anyway? But it is getting late and with just minutes left before we need to make the run back to the resort, our taxi, and the ship, Alberto has a change of plans. He wants Marsha to catch a fish, and so we go to a channel and troll Clouser minnows for some smash-n-grab jacks.

This all feels very familiar, as if I have been here before. If you have ever stalked flats in the Great Lakes for carp, then you know this game. Perhaps the Golden Bone moniker is not so inapt. The sand, the waves and wind, spooky fish over shallow water, the need to accurately present small flies often at great distances- no matter where you are doing this it is all the same.

The bonefish didn't quite live up to the hype that day- they were fast and fought hard, but not a single one touched my backing. Perhaps it was the cool weather, or maybe the small sample size. My first two years of fishing carp, not a single one touched the backing. In the several years after that it seemed like every fish went so far into the backing as to make me seriously sweat my knots.

I'm not complaining- the bonefish fought hard, and are one of the most elusive fish for the fly angler. If all you have ever caught are trout, you will find them extremely challenging. Being from the Great Lakes region, I have caught a lot of big, fast fish, including salmon and carp to thirty pounds, and double digit steelhead. All of them run fast and make you chase them. If you catch enough of them you learn how to fight big fish, how to set your drag, when to let a fish run and when to put the cork to them.

What I'm slowly getting at here, is if you have access to carp flats such as they have in the Great Lakes, don't ever think it's a second rate training ground for the salt. It's not. The differences are cosmetic- fresh versus salt, which bushes happen to be lining the shore, the bird species flying overhead. The wind, the water,the casting, the behavior of the fish, the speed and intensity of the fight are the same. The major difference is that it is more difficult to get carp to eat than bonefish.
carp fishing is a great way to bone up for bonefish

Monday, May 28, 2018

Monday Morning Coffee- 5/28/18

Yyyyuuuurrrrppphhhtttt!!! Yawn, stretch, scratch, repeat- let's have some coffee!

I'm drinking some rather fine coffee I get at Costco now from Mayan Organics. It's a little too strong, but it definitely jump starts the engine in the morning.

It's been so long since I posted here that I'm afraid to go look back and see how long it's been. Is Fontinalis Rising dead, or just hibernating? Time will tell. I've been trying to figure out what to do with this blog since I moved to Georgia. I don't fish as much due to my new circumstances, and FR feels inextricably tied to Michigan. With all the fishing in the nearby Smoky Mountains you'd think I'd have plenty of material, but I don't get out as much as I'd like. I'm hoping to change that.

I do have some material to share. We went on a cruise to Mexico last fall and booked a half day with a guide in Xcalak and finally caught my first bonefish. That story is written and just never published. Then Louis Cahill of Gink and Gasoline called me on a Thursday in January and asked if I could leave for the Bahamas on Saturday, so I ran off for a week of chasing bonefish there. We had terrible weather and great fishing. I caught a bone that was well over ten pounds, the fight of my life, so I'll have to share that story soon. I went on a float with Louis a few weeks ago and had a slow day until he hooked and landed a six pound brown on a streamer. (In searching links for this post I just discovered Louis wrote an account of our float here.)  And last week I got back from a few days of dry fly fishing in northern Michigan with some notorious friends as it was just getting started. It was fantasy dry fly fishing; absolutely superb. Oh, and I'm forgetting my musky trip last fall in which we each caught a musky in the first hour of fishing.

Ok, so I'm just lazy. I have written a couple posts about the Bahamas for Louis that you can read here and here, with a couple more in the works. And after I got back from the musky trip I wrote a gear review piece for MidCurrent you can read here.

Nick Johnson manning the counter at Tuckaseegee Fly Shop
I did go out on a scouting run to North Carolina yesterday. There is a whole lot of good fishing there that is only two hours from my living room, including trout, smallmouth, and musky water. We drove straight up to Sylva and stopped in at the Tuckaseegee Fly Shop. The guys there were more than helpful, sold me a few flies and sent us off to a creek nearby due to sustained high water conditions on the main river. As I write this we're experiencing rains from the first tropical system of the year. Anywho, due to my lack of familiarity with the area, I missed the access and kept driving all the way to Bryson City and stopped in at Tuckaseegee's other fly shop. The guy there was just as helpful and sent me to fish Deep Creek right up the road. We drove up there, but due to it being the holiday weekend and an access to the national park, it was a total shit show. It is said that if you just follow the trail upstream a mile or so, the fishing gets pretty good, but we couldn't even find a parking spot, so we turned around and drove back to Sylva to look for the accesses we missed on Scott Creek. We found them, but by then rain was pelting down on what was already a high and stained creek that thunders down a narrow ravine. What can I say, it was a scouting trip, and I plan to keep at it until I find some quality fishing. This is just the beginning.

So, my coffee is done. I'll leave you with a few photos from the various trips to tide you over until I get an actual post done.

Enjoy what's left of your Memorial Day weekend. Let's get after it.


Tom Hazelton with a great musky from last fall
perhaps the only shot I have that survived from Mexico
guide Ronnie Bain with my big bonefish on Andros
Louis with a great brown from a few weeks ago