Monday, June 26, 2017

The Plover

Last fall I was in the bookstore on Bainbridge Island when I saw a poster advertising upcoming author events.  I was beyond excited when I read that David James Duncan, author of The River Why and The Brothers K, among others, would be visiting the store.  Joining him was author Brian Doyle, who I hadn't heard of. 

The event was held days after the Presidential election; the room was charged.  Brian addressed the elephant in the room as soon as the event started.  I immediately liked him - he was loud, energetic, sincere, hilarious, and didn't mind cursing.  The readings that Doyle and Duncan gave that evening were as good as any I can remember, and afterward I got a chance to meet the authors and chat.  Per encouragement from friends, I even wore sandals to show Duncan my River Why tattoo.  Duncan laughed and considered drawing a foot around the hook on the inside of the book.  I bought a hard-to-find Duncan book and one of Doyle's, Mink River.  He signed it, "Blessings and laughter."

A few weeks later, on my way back to the island from Thanksgiving in Maine, I started Mink River.  And ate it up.  When I landed in SeaTac, I checked my email and was shocked to see an email entitled "Brian Doyle" from a coworker who had also attended the readings.  The note shared the news that Brian had been diagnosed with a brain tumor shortly after the event at the bookstore.  The email was eerily coincidental.

Brian Doyle passed on 5/27/2017, a few days after I started reading his novel The Plover.  In his words, "Of course you do your absolute best to find and hone and wield your divine gifts against the dark. You do your best to reach out tenderly to touch and elevate as many people as you can reach. You bring your naked love and defiant courage and salty grace to bear as much as you can, with all the attentiveness and humor you can muster; this is, after all, a miracle in which we live, and we ought to pay ferocious attention every moment, if possible."

The Plover is a sea story that follows the vessel of the same name and her crew.  It's a wonderful read, and I recommend it to everyone. 


...

Last weekend I traveled South to Idaho to fish and to pick up my own vessel. This ship needed a captain.  I will be it.  I will call her the Plover, in honor of Brian Doyle.  Now accepting crew applications.

"Why did I name the Plover the Plover, you ask? says Declan to the gull, who had not asked. I’ll tell you. Listen close now, because I have not explained this before and will not again. Far too much repetition in life altogether. We should say things once and let them just shimmer there in the air and fade away or not, as the case may be. The golden plover of the Pacific, the Pacific Golden Plover, is a serious traveler. It wanders, it wends where it will.  It is a slight thing, easily overlooked, but it is a heroic migrant, sailing annually from the top of Pacifica to the bottom. It forages, it eats what it can find. It talks while it travels and those who have heard it say it has a mournful yet eager sound. This seems exactly right to me, mournful yet eager. We regret, yet we push on. We chew the past but we hunger for the future. So I developed an affection and respect for the plover. It’s a little thing the size of your fist, other than those long pencilly legs for sprinting after grasshoppers and crabs and such, but it can fly ten thousand miles across an ocean itching to eat plovers and reaching for plovers with storms and winds and jaegers and such. You have to admire the pluck of the plover. It doesn’t show off and it isn’t pretty and you hardly even notice it, but it’s a tough little bird doing amazing things. Also it really likes berries, which appeals to me. Most of them fly from Siberia or Alaska to Australia and New Guinea and Borneo and such but some of them camp out awhile in Hawaii and just cruise around in the long grass in the sun eating and dozing. This appeals to me. So when it came time to name a little drab boat that wasn’t dashing and didn’t weigh much and no one notices much, but that gets a lot of work done quietly and could if it wanted to sail off and go as far as it wanted way farther than anyone could ever imagine such a little drab thing could do, that might pause here and there at an island so as to allow a guy to eat and doze in the grass, well, that’s why we are the Plover. So now you know. Don’t keep badgering me with questions."

 

Friday, June 9, 2017

Monday, February 13, 2017


Can't catch no steelhead on the bank. 
Didn't catch no steelhead in the water.

Name the bar.
And I'll buy you a drink there.

The road goes on forever.
And the party never ends.

Is it rising or setting?
Can't remember.

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Cheeky Schoolie Tournament 2017

I've said it before and I'll say it agian, every year I do this striped bass, fly fishing only, no boats allowed tournament down on the Cape with my high school buddy, and every year it's a 10 out of 10. Debauchery, sun up to sun down fishing. Somehow every year it's always 75 and sunny and last year, we had a 120 fish day on tournament day. This year, there will be at least 2 BFC teams, but I'd like to see more..... Mark your calendars for May 20th and register now as space is running out!!!

http://cheekyfishing.com/pages/schoolie-tournament

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Logo design contest

BFCers,

I'm using 99designs to create a logo for High Alpine Anglers. It will be for hats, tshirts, boat and vehicle decals, business cards, and the website. Please go to the link and vote on your favorite, it would be a huge help. Also, keep in mind, the logos aren't finalized yet. For example, if I go with the fish jumping out of the water with the rods on either side, the fish would be changed to a trout and the rods turned into fly rods:


Friday, December 23, 2016

People always said, 'There ain't no fish in there!'



A little creek you could spit across
Jimmy and me each took one more toss
Our spinners bright in the evening air
People always said, There ain't no fish in there
Well grownups they ain't always right
Jimmy and me walked home slow that night
Right down Main Street in our P.F. Fliers
With two 5 lb. bass making grown men liars
 
Jimmy if I had known
I might have stopped fishing right then
It's just as well we don't know
When things will never be that good again

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Silver Linings Fly Box


Part I: Optimism

The drought that dominated the upper east coast during the latter part of the Summer of 2016 didn't cease with the first few good fall rains - no, this monster lingered - unveiling an even uglier face in poor fish returns on many of our beloved waterways. The king salmon ran in Pulaski in quality numbers for three weeks in October, despite the pathetic 185 cfs flow. For those unfamiliar with the Salmon River, flows north of 500cfs and up to 1200cfs are considered prime and are the norm for fall steelhead season. Much to our delight, a torrential rain storm pushed through the region in the end of October – depositing nearly 5 inches of rain in watershed. While I dawned my Walking Dead costume and headed into the warm Halloween night to collect my yearly supply of Kit Kats and mini Snickers bars, the Salmon swelled. With flows exceeding 2000 cfs, I couldn’t help but imagine the river teeming with silver bullets for our first steelhead trip slated for mid November.

During the 10 days leading up to the trip, the pre-steelhead trip protocol was followed to a tea: arrive at work, check the water, get coffee, check the reports, grind till lunch, check the reports, check midday report and of course a pre-dinner and post-dinner river report as well. Something was happening (or rather not happening) and it was not encouraging...

Douglaston Salmon Run
Nov 2 Evening Fishing Report

Fishing was very slow today, anglers reporting at most 2 hook-ups, mostly steelhead. No end of the run seemed to be doing particularly better than the other. 


Next week the fish will be in...

Douglaston Salmon Run
Nov 7  Fishing Report

Still not seeing the numbers of steelhead we are used to for this time of year. Some anglers are able to get into a fish or two, but that's for a good hard day of fishing; covering lots of water.   


Maybe not...



Part II: Reality 

With our sights set, Steelie Zan and I packed the Steele Train with our fishing totes and rode west to meet a man who knows a thing or two about meat - "The Steele Creel" - Gavin. The three of us rigged our gear over a dozen Utica Clubs and engaged in a “Let’s show these folks how to catch steelhead tomorrow boys” powwow before we turned in.

Gavin grilling some "soggies" while enjoying some scotch.
Like harden steelheaders we charged onto that river only to find that the fish didn’t really show up. Two steelhead (2lb, 4lb) and 4 brown trout (~10 inches) for over 80 hours on the water pretty well sums up the weekend. To provide context, the Salmon unusually produces 5-15 hookups per angler per day in November, with days of 30 hookups not out of the question. Plain and simple - it sucked.

On our last afternoon, we shot over to the North Sandy Creek where Steelie Zan salvaged the trip with a beautiful fall male brown. That fish took the sting out of the punch, but the NY tribs had hit us hard and there would be bruising. On the plus side, Gavin had made arrangements for us to purchase a quarter cow from a beef maestro in Ithaca, things were looking up.





Part III: New Water, New Opportunities 

Steelie Zan and I began to plan out our return for 2 weeks later. This time 4 days, 2 on the Salmon on and 2 on a the tributaries west of Rochester on waterways we were far less familiar. Day 1 back on the Salmon – 20 hours on the water, 0 fished landed, 0 fish hooked, 1 fished seen. At days end, we both knew it, we had enough of the Salmon River. Plan B was in full effect, with Pulaski in the rear view, our sights lay on Brockport. This turned out to be a very fortuitous move, as the 65 degree day we enjoyed on the Salmon on Saturday, gave way to 2 feet of snow on Sunday and another foot on Monday.

If Pulaski is the former high school prom queen 10 years past her prime, addicted to meth, living in Myrtle Beach pursuing a prostitution career, then Brockport is her younger kin – wise from watching her sister's mistakes, settled on the Erie canal, married with 2 kids, helps run the Country Max feed store with her husband while picking up extra hours at the front desk of Hampton Inn and waitressing at the Golden Eagle dinner. Life isn’t glamorous but it’s one hell of an improvement.


Sunday was cold and windy. We saw one brown and we were lucky to get an eat. We also had a nice chat with DEC while exiting the river in near total darkness while enduring 30 mph cross winds and snow. From what I have heard, and experienced, this was quite a treat. In my 8 years fishing in upstate NY I have seen a DEC officer once. A guide friend of mine, who guides the Sandy, the very river we were on, has never seen one. The experience was pleasant aside from a beer can falling out of one of our pockets while trying to produce a NY fishing license and the younger DEC officer examining it with his Maglite while we stood in awkward conversation.

The next 2 days proved more enjoyable, both in weather and in angling. We found a few willing fish on the Sandy creek and then when things slowed there, we worked our way over to the Oak Orchard. It was from the Oak, where we tasted our first and only steele of the trip, a healthy buck. 



With a handful of rainbows and browns added to the mix, we started to settle into this fishery.




Part IV: A New Found Friend - Sandy Creek

Another 2 weeks back at the grind and we found ourselves in mid-December - again the fishing itch returned and with a favorable forecast, we conspired once again. This time, we were driving right past the Salmon.

Steelie Zan battling the slush just moments before taking a nice fish on the streamer. 

Over those 4 days, we log our time on the Sandy. Life was like a fine buffet, we would angle a section for a while, have our fill and try something new, finding ourselves returning for seconds and even thirds. The Oak was the dish was not worth sampling. On our brief trip to the Oak during day 3, a gentleman of 25 years’ experience, told us that he had hooked “nothing”, although the day before had been “OK, with 3 fish landed”. We settled in next to a group of guys who remarked “the fishing has sucked”. We decided to take lunch, breaking out the single burner grill, cooking up some hot dogs, drinking a beer and enjoying just sitting on the river. After an hour of fishing with little encouraging sign, we decided to head back to the peaceful banks of the Sandy. There, the pressure was low and there were fish to be had.




 We rounded out the weekend with 15+ browns and a handful of rainbows to the bank on streamers and egg patters. While the Salmon considerably closer, it was quite nice to get out an explore some new water on some tributaries where I have had limited exposure. It is safe to say that if the Salmon were fishing well, then we wouldn’t have spent 7 days on Oak and the Sandy in the fall of 2016 - an experience, I very much enjoyed. So next time your favorite waterway fishes poorly, peer into your fly box, look for that silver lining and imagine the possibility on a waterway near you. 

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Boston -> Seattle -> Bainbridge Island


Last Tuesday night, to my surprise, I learned that my company was shipping me out to Seattle for a 3 day networking stint. When scrambling to get my shit together later that night, it dawned on me that a BFC diehard currently lives out there…one who I had never met before. Jesse Robbins.

After a long flight out there and all of the work stuff had reached its much desired end – I hopped on the ferry over to the beautiful, Bainbridge Island.


Jesse picked me up in his white four-door Toyota Tacoma at the ferry (I distinctly remember his truck because I had approached a different white four-door vehicle in the parking lot, which was owned by a guy named James. Irrelevant, but kind of funny). Thankfully, Jesse and I finally located one another, hopped aboard his fishing machine of a vehicle and the exchange of BFC stories ensued shortly thereafter. 

Once we stepped foot into the factory, it was clear to me that Jesse was completely in his element.




I noticed right away the high ceilings throughout the office to hold everything from 9' to 14' spey rods, which was awesome. He walked me through the process, from start to finish, of how their brand makes such a high quality fly fishing rod. Insanely cool. No pictures of the manufacturing process, though – let your mind run wild.

We got beers and pizza at a local pub in Bainbridge (the name of the place is escaping me). Good to see that the bartender knew Jesse by name. 


Jesse pulled out an old Salmon River video that was hilarious to watch and put in perspective what the BFC was like in the 2000s. The movie looked like absolute chaos; someone was dying someone else’s hair? Keith was wearing vibrant red colors on the river, Wilkie was hoisting hog steelhead up to camera with an evil grin. That video is gold.

When I took the ferry back to Seattle that night, there was a local harvest of squid right off the dock. It was a scene...hilarious banter coming out of that crowd. Wish I had a chair and a PBR because it was quality entertainment.

 

Some more pictures of Seattle:



Cloudburst Brewery...and I definitely can't pull off that hat.



I had Friday to myself in the city and Jesse recommended I check out a fly shop called Emerald Waters in West Seattle. One of the guides lent me his 6 wt. and pointed me in the direction of a local park for sea run cutthroat. A few porpoised in the distance and one jumped right in front of me, but no dice.







Great to meet you Jesse and thanks for the hospitality out there – can't wait to get out on the river next time!

-Andy