Fish Guts and Cow Tongues

For Labor Day weekend, Janet, Jackson, and I went out to a sibling reunion for her dad's family at the "Hen House." It's a huge rental house out on Lake Gaston in Virginia (part of the Roanoak river). It's a pretty awesome house with two small docks (one for boats, and one for fishing). Last year we went there for a reunion on Janet's mother's side. Janet and I found the biggest spider I have ever seen in the wild... It was a wolf spider the size of my hand. It freaked Janet out, and she left me to kill it. No giant spiders though this year.

Janet's dad's family has a few avid fishermen in it. Uncle Phil is probably the most out of all of them. He is around 70 ish, and still goes deep sea fishing in the gulf every year, and hunts for alligators bare handed. I love the guy... he is crazy! Everyone arrived about a day before we did. The day we went to the Hen house one of the kids caught a cat that was probably 14-16 inches long, and then they hooked another that was bigger because this one broke the line. They sent us pictures as we were driving there; trying to get me even more pumped to fish. I don't know if that is possible. Anyway, they were setting up a trotline from one dock to the other when we arrived. I brought my fishing stuff along with me hoping to get out on the kayak and try out my 7wt, and I also brought my spincasting rod, but it never got used.

Isis with the catfish.

Day one consisted of lots of boating and a pretty intense sunburn on my shoulders and back. The family rented a deckboat and a tube, and it ran most of the day. It was a ton of fun. That was Janet's birthday, and she told me while we were out on the tube that it was the best birthday she has had in a while. She loves boating. That night I tried to do some fly fishing, but was unsuccessful. I got out on the water a little late, and had to paddle back in the dark. The next day Phil went shopping and came back with a cow tongue and successfully grossed all the women out. He loves scaring people, and grossing them out, and I can't think of anything better than a cow tongue to aid in such endeavors. He baited the trotline with the tongue, and put together some jugs to jug fish using the tongue as bait.

The next morning I got to give my rod another try. I slipped out around 7:30 on the kayak. On my way out, Phil told me that he couldn't find one of his jugs, and asked me to bring it back if I found it. I rowed across the lake to the other side to get into the shade, and to try and fish near the reeds. There were quite a few fish rising over there, but I think I scared them all away pretty quickly. I was struggling to cast from the kayak. I couldn't get my loops very tight, and kept skipping my flies across the water making huge splashes. After a while I started to get the hang of it though, and pretty soon felt a bite, but I didn't hook it. In the distance I saw the jug Phil had lost, and decided to slowly work towards it. As I continued down the shoreline, I only felt one other bite. I'm pretty proud of those two bites though. The scenery was amazing along the way. I love to be out on the still water of a lake early in the morning. I saw two cranes hunting in the distance, and even saw one dive for a fish. I was excited to see that. I finally decided to give up the fly rod, and just get the jug. Nothing was on it when I picked it up, the current must have pulled it away from our dock. I threw the jug into the back of the kayak, and left the hook and bait in the water as I paddled back to our dock. After about a minute of paddling, I felt a fish on the hook. I pulled it up, and there was a 10 or 12 inch bass. I was pretty stoked, and brought it back so I could show everybody that I DID catch SOMETHING. Janet's niece Isis loved the fish and begged to hold it. She was fascinated with it's eyes, and kept poking them. Phil and uncle Mark kept chuckling about the bass that went for the cow tongue. Eventually uncle Mark helped me scale the fish, gut it, and remove the head so we could cook it up with all of the fish Phil brought up from one of his deep sea adventures. I finally gutted my first fish and ate it. It wasn't as flavorful as the red fish, sea trout, and lemon fish Phil brought, but it was pretty good still.

Getting ready to eat the bass.

TU & Conservation

I always thought the environment was important, and have been picking up any trash I see along the trails I hike for as long as I can remember, but fly fishing has opened up a deeper understanding of environmental protection to me. With events such as the coal ash spills into the Dan river, algae toxins in Toledo, the coal mining chemical spill in West Virginia, and various other water contamination issues, it becomes more and more evident to me that we need to protect our water, and preserve whole river ecosystems. I don't really know how to get started on my end, but I have a few ideas for the Outdoor Club I sponsor through work. I hope to get students as excited about these topics, and get our feet wet both literally and figuratively with regards to making a difference locally.


TU Headwaters (short) from TwoFisted Heart Productions on Vimeo.

The Smell of Home

My family just got back from our Montana/Canada trip about a week ago. It was an amazing trip. That area is so gorgeous! We landed in Calgary on a Saturday and drove with Janet's brother Brian (not to be confused with my brother Brian, who lives MUCH closer to us) to his home in a quaint village about 3 hours from there. It was the perfect time to arrive because the canola was in full bloom (which I had never seen before) painting the landscape with a brilliant yellow contrasted by the dark blue/purple of the mountains. I regret not getting a picture, but I loved looking at it as we drove through the Canadian countryside. The following morning we continued our journey (now with Brian's wife who was working most of the day Saturday) to Whitefish, Montana via the Going to the Sun Road in Glacier National Park. Words cannot describe the grandeur of Glacier. The mountains and glacier cut valleys are so incredibly majestic - the way they tower over you and how the valleys seem to go on forever through the jagged cliffs. There are waterfalls everywhere as well. I would love to spend more time there and do some backpacking. I firmly believe that you cannot soak in an area be it a grandiose wilderness created by God's hands or a man-made concrete jungle (I much prefer the former) unless you do so on human power: walk, or canoe. As much as I love white water rafting and mountain biking, I feel as though those are too fast to have a deep connection to the area. They become more about the activity than the location; however, they are much better than staying in a car. To better take in the views as we drove through Glacier (and snap pictures), I spent a little time hanging out the window of our vehicle. It was the best I could do in that situation.

Old Chief as seen from the U.S. - Canada border

Next to Avalanche Creek in Glacier National Park

Our arrival day in Whitefish was pretty uneventful, as was our first full day (Monday). We got settled in, and everybody went shopping (Brian and Devynn did a ton to take advantage of cheaper U.S. prices, and the lack of sales tax in Montana). I found a Cabellas, and bought a fishing licence, as well as a tool to straiten out my leader which is always curled from being on the reel, and a couple of flies I have been wanting. I can't wait to learn to tie flies. It seems like it would be a much cheaper option. I love the artsy fartsy-ness as well as the idea of catching a fish on a fly that I created/tied. Anyway, after Cabellas (I had gone with Janet's dad, and Brian) we met up with the rest of the family at Costco, and I quickly cruised the store for samples. They had some meat balls that were pretty good, and some juice that Janet absolutely loved. That night I believe was when I took some of the kids fishing at the pond at our condo. They were pretty young (six, eight and eight) and none had ever seen a fly rod, so I gave them my net and told them they could scoop up anything I caught. Like usual, my efforts were fruitless. We saw several fish rising, and watched one come out from under the dock and check out a wooly bugger I was fishing with. The boys really liked that.

Tuesday was my big fishing day. I had prepared and found an area I wanted to fish (I looked up on some blogs and online fly shops and decided to go to the South Fork of the Flathead). I almost backed out of fishing because the rest of the family was going hiking in Glacier, and I really didn't want to miss out on that. I was dropped off in the closest neighborhood I could find to the river, hoping that I could find a trail to the river. I felt a little odd wandering through the neighborhood, but I quickly found a trail and started walking upstream to find somewhere to start. Almost immediately I saw a place that looked great, but somebody was already fishing there. I kept walking up the trail/road and soon an old Land Cruiser drove by with three guys in it. They stopped and the driver came out to ask me about the river. If memory serves his name was Bob. I told him I wasn't from the area, and I didn't know much about it. He hadn't fished there, but knew more than me. He informed me that there was a dam about a mile up the road so there wasn't much more fishing upstream. He also informed me that I needed to listen for sirens later in the day that signaled the release of more water, warning people who are wading to seek high ground. I thanked him and continued upstream to look for somewhere to fish. Later on the same group passed me on their way back from the dam. They hadn't found anywhere good to fish, and said the access got steeper the closer you got to the dam. They offered me a ride back downstream. They were super nice. I don't remember much about the other two in the car, but Bob was an avid fly-fisherman, and a university professor. He taught for several years in public schools and worked his way through administration to his current position. It was cool to talk to someone who had traveled the path I am just beginning. After a few minutes we pulled over and found a pretty decent place to fish. I felt awkward because I'm all self taught so part of me wanted to avoid them, and part of me wanted to crash their party and pick their brains. The part that wanted to avoid them won.... and I went about 100-150 yards upstream of them to fish.

The water was cold, but not as cold as I expected it to be. Soon, I had put my rod together, had strung up my line, and was casting in the river. It was so different from the small stream that I have been learning to fish on here. I had no clue what I was doing, but I didn't want the group downstream of me to know that. I started fishing what I believe is called a dry-dropper. I had a big foam chernobyl ant (I read those were good in this area during late July) with a copper john dropped under it. I never caught anything. I quickly lost the copper john to some trees, and soon after lost my san juan worm to a lousy knot. I lost another fly on this trip but I don't remember what it was. I learned to check and double check my knots, because two of them were lost just through casting. This was already feeling like my typical fishing trip. I had waded in so I was up to my thighs but not quite to my tender spot. I stayed in that spot for a while, probably half an hour. When I tried to move I realized my legs were going numb, and I almost tripped. Somehow I kept my ground, but I realized I needed to get out and get moving to get the blood flowing in my legs again.

South Fork of the Flathead

After a while I found a better spot to fish from that was a little further downstream. There were more boulders in the area. Boulders = hiding spots for fish to feed from + somewhere out of the water to fish from. It was a good deal. As soon as I got up on one of the rocks I could see some huge trout along the bottom of the river just on the other side of the boulders. They had to be the fabled bull trout I had read about. My guess would be that they were somewhere around 20-25" long or more. It's hard to tell from that distance and through the water though. I kept trying to put any nymph or streamer I had in front of them. I tried several configurations to add weight to the line so it would get down to them. Everything I put in front of them they snubbed. Wouldn't even budge. As I was stripping a muddler minnow towards them I hooked a smaller fish. My guess is that it was around 10 inches. It was hiding somewhere behind the bigger fish. I reeled it in and got a better look at it. Pretty sure it was a rainbow. I held it close to me as I fumbled to unhook my net from the carabiner that was holding it. Alas, the fish shook my hook before I could get the net off my waist. I held it long enough though that I will consider it caught. In retrospect the fish hung out in the shallows for a while before it swam off. I think I wore him out. I could probably have walked over and netted it still, for photo evidence, but I didn't think of it at the time. I tried from that spot for about another hour before moving on, not having any more success. I saw several other anglers on the water, and I didn't see anybody hook anything.

The rest of the week was pretty awesome. It included an adventure park with go carts and mini-golf, bowling and pizza, and kayaking/canoeing on Whitefish Lake. We drove back through Glacier to Canada on Friday. I slept through most of that. Little J wasn't sleeping well on this trip Mommy and Daddy didn't sleep well either. Other than that he was super awesome, and everybody loved seeing him. Janet's nephew got baptized Friday night. On Saturday a group of us went to the Cardston, Alberta Temple. It was such a beautiful building! I was enthralled by the woodwork and the colors. There were intricate inlays throughout the dark walnut. It was gorgeous. Saturday afternoon and Sunday we hung out, and I played soccer with the kiddos. Monday we flew home. In all it was an awesome trip. So glad we did it, but it definitely wore us out. It's rough traveling with a wee one, and we want to hold off on big trips like this for a bit. We did two big ones this year (Colorado, and Canada) and I think that's enough.

Asheville

In June, my in laws invited my wife, baby boy, and I to go with them to Asheville. They were up there for a conference for my father in-law's work. We had never been, and we thought it would be fun to go. Being that we were up in the mountains, I was excited to get out and go fishing on some streams/rivers. We got up there after I got off work on Tuesday, and went out to eat at a fabulous Mexican restaurant called Mamacitas. After that, we walked around to see downtown. My wife and I had never been there before so that was pretty neat. The second day we were up there was my day to go fishing. I have a hard time leaving my family behind to do things like that because I want to be with them (especially on a family trip) and it makes me feel selfish. What made it even harder was that my in-laws were at conferences, so my wife was all alone at the hotel with my son. So I tried to find some place close to town to fish at so I wouldn't be gone long. I saw that the French Broad goes through Asheville, and there were two parks close by where I thought I would have good access to the water.

I went to the first park and after a good look at the water, I knew I could not wade it like I expected I might. It was deep, and muddy, with steep banks. I decided to try and find access on a stream that joined the river nearby. I got out there and the trail I planned to access the stream on was closed and had a no-trespassing sign. I tried another access point (which was just a pull off that had a small trail heading to the stream). I got all geared up without checking the trail, and a few feet into the trail I could see that it was the home of some bum. There was trash everywhere, clothes hung up on ropes to dry, a tent with a tarp over the top, and a spin-casting rod set up near the bank (which were even steeper and higher than those on the river). So I decided to try the last park. At this point I had been out for an hour driving around and looking for somewhere to fish. At the last park I saw that there was a pier set up to fish from, but it was best set up for regular fishing rods - not fly rods. I decided that I needed to fish here so I could get a little bit of time in and maybe catch something. There wasn't too much tree coverage over head, so I didn't think much of it. At this point in time I was a little frustrated because I knew I didn't want to be gone long, and I had already wasted more than an hour looking for somewhere to fish. 

This is where it really starts to be a crappy fishing trip. On my first cast my fly caught in a branch overhead. This was a fly I just bought that day at a fly shop in town. I don't have very many of them, so I am very protective of them. I was able to get it out, and after that I was more cautious about casting. I got several casts out to the water, and started to get a little careless. I got my fly caught in the same tree, but this time a little higher. I tried pulling the fly out, but I saw that it was wrapped around the branch and hooked back onto the line - there was no way to yank it out of the tree. I tried cutting the line so that there would be enough slack that the fly might release the line and just fall out of the tree. That didn't work. So I had the brilliant idea to turn my rod upside down and use my reel as a hook on the branch to pull it down so I could reach the branch and pull the fly out; my rod separated, leaving my fly, half my rod, and my reel in the tree. I stayed mostly calm and started looking for how to get everything out of the tree. I was getting embarrassed because right behind this pier was a walking trail - so many people were walking by watching my shenanigans. I climbed up on the railing to the pier and reached for the lower branches of the tree. I was barely able to grab them and started slowly pulling them down. The branches were forked, I was pulling on the lower fork, and all of my gear was on the upper fork. When I was about an inch away from grabbing my rod (and getting excited to be done with this fiasco) the lower fork broke clean off, with the upper fork springing back into it's original position, and launching my rod and reel into the air. I watched it in slow motion as it flew into the river, and sank with a splash. 

Poop. Poop poop. I only swore once under my breath. I hopped down from the railing and started looking around at what my options were now. I knew I had to go into the river for it. I started walking back to the car to change into just my shorts, and leave my valuables there. On my way I texted my wife to tell her that I threw my rod in the river, and would have to dive for it. I also told her I was pretty sure that this was God telling me to stop fishing. She texted back to tell me not to think that way, and told me to only do it if it was safe. I assured her it was. People were lazily floating the river so I knew the area I was in had a gentle current, and I would be okay. Plus the rod didn't land too far from shore. I went back to the pier now in my shorts and keens - sporting a wicked farmers tan as well. At this point a kid who was probably twelve years old was on the pier, and seemed to be looking for my rod in the water. I think he had been watching the whole thing from a distance. I walked down the side of the pier, shimmied over, hand over hand on the deck of it to a post from which I slid down into the water. It was super muddy down there, and got deeper with every little step into the water. I slowly trudged over to where I thought my rod was, and the only good thing that happened to me this trip happened right then: I saw the tip of my rod just under the water's surface. I wasn't looking forward to plunging into the cold muddy water to feel around for my submerged rod and reel. I grabbed the rod, climbed the post, and shimmied back to shore. The kid was still there and he just watched as I climbed back up with mud up past my ankles. I walked back to the car, threw my gear in the trunk, grabbed some paracord, and a small emergency shovel and headed back to get my fly. At this point I didn't care what I looked like or what I did, but I was going to get everything back. Asheville (wich is like the Boulder, Colorado of the east) is full of weirdos anyway. I tied the paracord to the shovel and used it as a weight to toss the line over the tree branch, and pull it down so I could get my fly. I grabbed the fly, and put it in my mouth as I wrapped up the paracord and walked back to my car. I got a lot of looks as I stood in a pile of mud that was dripping off of me as I started to reorganize all my gear in the trunk. I knew I needed to wash off before I got back in the car so I walked up stream until I found a tree I could shimmy out on hand over hand (to avoid climbing the muddy bank) and dangle my feet in the water to clean them off. As I drove back to the hotel I thought of what a crappy, and discouraging fishing trip it had been. I wish I had a friend there to talk some sense into me before I did many things on this trip, or at least to have filmed me. I could probably have sent that in to funniest home videos or posted on youtube to become the next sensation (look at this idiot) and win a lot of money, but alas I have no such spoils. This weekend my family is flying up to Canada/Montana for a week long reunion. I'm planning on fly fishing - no way I could pass up doing so in one of the world's trout havens. Hopefully I plan it out better, and have a much more enjoyable experience.

Little Brookie

Catching my first fish made me even more thirsty to catch another. I continued, but never caught. One trip out to Cape Hatteras produced one small fish for my cousin, Maximus Prime, but that was the closest I got for a long time. 

Maximus Prime and Michaela

One day, returning from an errand with an older friend from church, we somehow got on the subject of fishing. I mentioned to him that I was super interested in fly fishing, and he said he would loan me some equipment that he hasn't used in years. He used to fly fish, but somehow fell away from doing it. I jumped on that offer. After getting his gear, I looked up a ton of videos on how to cast, and on all of the other basics. I started practicing in my back yard. I tried to fish a few times, but after about 4-5 separate fruitless attempts I was getting frustrated again. 

In October of last year, I took my Outdoor Club to South Mountains to do a hike. We knocked out 7 miles in only a few hours, and had some extra time to run around and explore the creek by the Jacobs Fork parking area. I saw several people fly fishing, and I saw SEVERAL trout. I was astonished because I hadn't ever seen so many before. I convinced my wife to go up there the next weekend with some friends for a picnic. I brought my friend's gear, and did a little fishing. I had (and have) no clue what I'm doing, and I saw the trout sucking in and spitting out my fly before I could hook them. After about half an hour I finally hooked one, and was able to reel it in. I called my friend's daughter over to take my picture (she was running around exploring with my SLR) and I tried my best to keep him in the water close to me and only pull him out when she took the pic. It took her a little while to get to me and when she did, the fish got off. I had several witnesses though that I actually caught one. It was about an eight inch brook trout. My first fish (and only fish as of yet) on fly. I was stoked.  

My First Fish

So I had been fishing several times since I got married, and had no luck. I had tried using live bait, and bass lures. I don't know if it was a lack of knowledge, or a lack of patience, but I never caught anything. I mentioned to my bishop that I had been trying to fish with absolutely no luck; he then invited me to go fishing with him on the lake he lives on and guaranteed me a fish. We decided to meet early one morning to head out in his canoe. I was super excited. The prospect of having somebody give me some tips and pointers was super exciting, and the thought of maybe actually catching a fish had me pretty excited though by this point I was skeptical and felt that all fish had some sort of secret combination against me. I had spoken with many children who had caught more fish than I could ever dream of. I always told them they needed to teach me how to do it.

The long awaited day came, and I showed up at bishops house somewhere around six in the morning. We quietly went into his back yard, loaded the canoe, and pushed off. It was gorgeous. The lake was so quiet - there wasn't even a breeze. There was a mist hanging over the water. It was awesome to glide along the water to the sound of the paddles and the plop of lures hitting the water. We fished for about two hours and had only seen one maybe two fish. I think I almost caught one, but I didn't set the hook quick enough. We were on our way back in, floating to the end of the cove where bishop lives, and I felt another hit. This time I set it, and bishop had to coach me through reeling it in (you would think that would be ridiculously easy and obvious, but apparently I wasn't doing it at the right speed to keep it hooked). When I finally got it out of the water the little beast showed itself. It was probably a whole five inches long, and was a beautiful specimen of what we think was a baby small mouth bass. Bishop showed me how to pull the hook out of its mouth and release it back into the water. I felt quite accomplished: I had FINALLY caught a fish, and bishop delivered on his guarantee. We were no more than 50 feet from where we were going to pull out.

The Beginnings

Growing up I never had much of an interest in fishing or hunting or anything like that. I liked to be outside, but I mostly just rode my bike around, or jumped on my friends trampolines. My dad wasn't too into anything outdoors either. I'm the eighth of ten children, so I think by the time I came around he had worn himself out. I vaguely remember him going hunting when I was really little. I don't remember if he came back with anything or not. He had some fishing gear but I never saw him use that. I didn't have any interest in either except for one time I brought his gear to scout camp and tried to fish once - I believe I got the hook stuck in some reeds and gave up. None of my brothers fished, nor did my friends. My point in saying all this is to point out how strange it was for me to get an interest in fishing while in college. I had a dream of hiking deep into the Sawtooth mountains in Idaho to do some hiking/climbing/mountaineering and living off the land for a week. Part of that meant fishing the remote streams for trout. I knew that fly fishing would be my favorite way to fish because it is so much more interactive. Despite this dream I never fished in all my time in Idaho. I realize now how incredibly sad it was that I never got into fly fishing up there. My first experience with fly fishing was at a pond in Colorado with some guys that I worked with after graduating college. They were big catfish guys, and had no idea how to use a fly rod - and neither did I. I had borrowed my dad's fly rod and it was a mess. Needless to say I didn't catch anything.

When I moved out to North Carolina, my curiosity for fly fishing grew. I started looking up information on it and decided that it was too expensive to start, but my interest grew with the increase of knowledge. When Janet and I got married, her parents moved out of town as well. They gave us a lot of stuff for our new house, including a spin-casting rod. Thus began my career as a crappy fisherman.