veloxseeker

Fish Farts?

No, this is not a dissertation about piscatorial bowel movements. Nor am I trying to be crude. It’s just an observation.

Many times when I’m fishing one of our local streams/rivers, I’ll be wading along and from behind me I hear something akin to flatulence. ( No, its not coming from me!) It’s not a “barn burner” or anything like that. It’s much more subtle.

Just a little “brrrrrrtt”. I am really curious by nature and often times I will sit on the riverbank and just observe things for awhile. So as I was sitting there one day, I happened to catch a smallmouth fingerling rocket out of the water while making that sound. Aha! That’s what it is…the sound of the tail smacking the water in extremely rapid succession as it breaches the surface while chasing some insect. If you’ve ever caught a fingerling you’ll know exactly how “wiggly” they really are.

Several times the wife and I have quietly approached a shallow bend in the river only to be greeted by a cacophany of “fish farts.” It’s really quite funny but it is also encouraging. We’re staring at the future!

It does our hearts good to know that our rivers and streams are healthy and that the native smallmouth bass ( the Velox ) are doing well and reproducing in meaningful numbers. With concerns of pollution, genetic inbreeding from introduced species etc etc. it gives us hope. And in this day and age, with everything going on…we need that.

Stay safe out there.

Twinkies!

Not long ago, had you called me a Twinkie we would’ve been trading punches.

But age has a way of mellowing a man and forces them to see things differently.

The wife and I are now Twinkies. We have accepted the moniker and embrace it. It started off innocently enough through fishing rods. I had one she really liked so I bought her one. Next came the reels…same thing. Following that came the Patagonia Stormsurge/Stormfront Sling Pack. I bought us each one since it was perfect for our fishing style. Next up was the wading boots. She tried mine on and fell in love with them…yep, I ordered her a pair.

I bought a high-end Japan made spinning reel recently…”my Precious!” I’d catch her casting sidelong glances at it. I’d notice her playing with it. The Smeagol reference is perfect since that’s how she was looking at my reel. “She Wants It!” So what does any self-respecting husband do…order her one as well!

The irony of it all comes from the actual packaging of the Twinkies. I’m pushing 50 and have gained 10 pounds (who am I kidding…more like 15!) So the spongy, goo filled snack seems fitting. I guess I AM a Twinkie!

I just hope the myth is true. They never go stale or expire!

Let’s Talk About Etiquette…

YES! There are informal rules to fishing. It’s sort of a Gentleman’s agreement rather than being written in stone. I won’t cover them all, just the two I see way too often.

The first is referred to as “Camping.” It’s when people stay in one spot and fish that section to death while people are waiting their turn. Nobody likes to feel pressured or hurried when fishing…but come on! You can clearly see that people are waiting so fish the top spots and move on.

The second is called “High-holing” and is basically similar to jumping line. Everybody hates it and YOU know it. However, if you’re camping and get high-holed…you deserve it.

Uncommon sense dictates that if you have the river to yourself then the rules are shelved. Pretty simple.

It’s not that difficult to start a conversation. Keep it non-aggressive and casual and if there’s a section you want to fish several miles up-river just let them know.

For example, I got to the river really early one day and was gearing up to begin fishing. I’m standing on the riverbank fastening my waders when a car pulls up and two guys get out and start hurrying past me to fish the river. I caught up to them a few minutes later and asked how they were doing. (the weather is always a safe topic) I asked their permission if I could move past them because I wanted to fish a section of the river several miles upstream. I told them that I didn’t want to high-hole them and thought it best to inform them of my plans. They were somewhat perplexed and I explained the term “high-holing” to them. The light bulb clicked on and they sheepishly looked at one another. I wished them success and began my walk upstream.

I created dialogue in a non-aggressive manner, I informed them that I was not a threat to their fishing plans so I eliminated any pretense of competition or one-upmanship. It worked out and there was enough distance between us that we never saw each other until later that evening when we were all leaving.

It’s not that difficult to have a good time on the river/stream where everyone benefits. Now, if anyone can get through to the jet skiers…have at it.

A Fine Compliment…

My youngest son’s Scout Troop was planning a trip to the Boundary Waters and parts of Quetico. I vowed to make sure he was ready even though I had my hesitations due to his age and stature.

I took him on several float trips down one of our local rivers, teaching him the necessary strokes and when to use them. I taught him how to read the water and how to avoid obstacles. How to navigate through rapids and eddies and how to pick the most efficient line. A kid is a kid and you never really know for sure if they’re actually listening or not.

I was suffering from a torn rotator cuff and was scheduled for surgery so never had any intention of going on said trip. But I did my best to uphold my vow. And I lamented that I wouldn’t be there for my youngest sons first trip “Up North.”

The surgery came and went with a rotator cuff repair and a torn bicep tendon surgically reattached. Late one evening I received a call from a gentleman whose son was going as one of the adults and was informed that he had been in a bad car accident and wouldn’t be able to go. He asked if I wanted to take his slot. I looked at the calendar seeing that it was 3 months post op and physical therapy was going really well. I said OK, count me in. Of course I set some conditions, mainly being that I wouldn’t be able to portage a canoe.

As it turns out, these kids were too young to handle portaging canoes or to even carry the heavier packs. I had my work cut out for me and ended up carrying our canoe over every portage. My middle son was on the trip as well, acting as the Navigator because it was his second trip up there. To his credit he worked harder than anyone and always took the heaviest loads without complaint. Bless that child because he helped his old man more than he knew. My kids are 5 years apart and the middle son hung mostly with his friends. But he and his buddy always canoed close to me because I knew all of the shortcuts and best campsites. The leader was using a GPS and those only work on straight lines so you do a lot of unnecessary paddling. But it was good to share the experience with both of them.

On the way out, I had fallen behind the group a bit, just to prolong the inevitable end of the trip. And from the canoe to my left, one of the Dads who went, smiled and pointed to the bow seat of my canoe at my son. He said, “you can certainly tell who taught that young man how to handle himself in a canoe!” Also, “I’ve been watching you two paddle for the past hour and he never misses a beat and always anticipates the next curve of the river…he’ll be a pro just like his Dad soon.”

Wow! I got choked up and all I could do was smile and give him a thumbs up. I saw my son square his shoulders a bit from a swell of pride. Thank you sir for the compliment…you made my trip that much better.

And now I know that my son WAS listening! How cool is that?

It’s in my Gene’s…

This picture is of my Great-grandfather on a Canadian fishing trip circa 1928. That’s him on the right. And correct me if I’m wrong, but those sure look like pre-Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers that he’s wearing. It’s definitely a different era!

I could make this blog post about over-harvesting and things like that, but I won’t.

Instead it will be about what could quite possibly be genetic encoding. I am not a geneticist and this is pure speculation on my part…but I believe that fishing the North is in our genomic composition.

I know that my Grandfather and Father were fishing up there in 1953 or 1954. I’ve been up there 25 or so times. My wife and children have been up there as well…so that’s 5 generations that have fished the North.

I have taken my Father up there fishing with me twice and it was a memorable experience for both of us. And I know all four of my kids are wanting to go back. Three of them have already made multiple trips up there.

I have been to very few places that felt like “home.” As soon as I place the canoe in the water and make the first paddle stroke…it feels like a homecoming. I paddle in silence and just “feel” my way along the rivers and lakes. I feel the embrace of the trees as I make a portage. The smile and laughter of the wind on my face. It seems surreal sometimes and I dare not make a noise that breaks the reverie. I want it to last forever.

I’ve enjoyed sitting on a rock in the middle of the night staring intently at the Northern Lights. The green shimmer waving in and out and side to side. I was told by a First Nations gentleman that what I was seeing was the Ancestors dancing around their sacred fire in the next life. If you stare long enough you can see them. It’s incredible.

I never really knew my Great-grandfather because I was too young. All I remember was him being taken by dementia. I knew my Grandfather and loved hearing him tell stories and showing me things. I only fished with him twice that I can remember…but he enjoyed listening to me tell him about my latest trip up North. My Dad knows…he’s been there and experienced it. Hell, he lives in Canada!

So yah, I like to believe that it is encoded in my DNA and I sure hope I pass it along.

May the wind always be at your back and the sun on your face….

Lest You Think I’m a Drunk…

I know I’ve written two, maybe three, posts mentioning Whiskey…but I will confess, I’ve never bought or owned a Whiskey bottle in my life! But I have no qualms about partaking of someone else’s bottle if it suits me!

I do partake in adult beverages on occasion but the timing has to be right. Something memorable has to be happening or the “ambience” has to be perfect.

Wine? Not really my thing unless I’m dressed up and feeling “hoity toity” as my Dad says. Beer? Meh. I’m too picky. It has to be a dark beer for sure. The lightest I’ll go is a Newcastle or Murphy’s.

Now Rum on the other hand…that’s a different story. I don’t mind sipping Rum every once in a while. In fact, my co-worker skipped town before the ice storm and is safely ensconced on a beach down in Key West! Bastard. I sent a text to him asking for him to bring me back a bottle of Papa’s Pilar Dark Rum…we shall see if he redeems himself.

But seriously, he was going to be back tomorrow but I told him that he should stay put until this weather clears. He’s a great guy…even if he thinks I look like a polio patient while casting my “lefty.”

In short…I don’t drink much and have witnesses to prove it. Cheers!

Temper Tantrum Tuesday

Sometimes I get something stuck in my “craw” and can’t let it go.

I received several emails today from Outdoor Retail Companies professing to have Super Duper Holy Smokes Gee Whiz sales. It being close to Valentines Day, I decided something for the wife was in order. Forget it! What a complete and utter CROCK!!!

Seriously folks? I clicked the tab for Women’s Apparel and started perusing through looking for something that the wife might like. Aha! There’s something! NOPE. Only size was XX-Small…and the color options??? They looked like carpet remnants from the 70’s. Shoes? HA! Maybe if you wore a size 5!

Get real people!!! It’s not a “SALE!”…or even a “Spring Sale!” Who are you kidding? It’s February! The reality is (as I see it) that they’re trying to get rid of the “dreks” and “un-sellable stuff” that’s in their inventory. Needless to say…I unsubscribe from EVERY site that tries to pull that crap. The worst offenders are the ones you see where it says: “In Stock” and you get all excited only to find out they LIED. It’s backordered indefinitely. Do they honestly think I’m going to keep shopping for something else? Buh-bye

And then there’s COVID. A detestable virus AND the greatest excuse EVER. Seems to me that businesses are blaming every little hiccup on COVID rather than pointing the finger at themselves. Nothing I can do about that but add to my list of businesses to avoid in the future.

Anyway, I could go on and on but I won’t. I have to send out a search party for my missing fishing rod that was supposed to be delivered Monday. I’m thinking the carrier pigeon froze to death and crashed. The Regional facility is only 26 miles away and its been in transit for 2 days. That should narrow the search pattern down. USPS….YOU SUCK! End of rant.

Everybody else, stay warm and stay safe…

P.S. If you think I’m being too harsh on the USPS, consider this… I ordered 2 rods on the same day…one from New York and the other from Japan. I’m staring at the one from Japan. And before you go blaming the weather, I have an hour long commute each way, I’m driving in the same conditions because I have a job to do as well. Something to ponder.

What’s the Connection?

So what is the connection to some of the stories I share and what my blog is about? The answer is the Smallmouth Bass (Micropterus dolomieu). It’s my favorite fish to go after. I have made many trips up North to fish for these guys and so I try to share a few of the trip highlights. Be they humorous or fishing related.

Pound for pound, this fish is a great fighter and a scrappy one at that! I have read that a Neosho-strain Smallmouth Bass that is between 12 and 14 inches long could be as a old as ten years of age. As its name implies (Micropterus dolomieu velox) “Velox” in Latin means swift or rapid. Research shows that they mainly inhabit swift flowing streams and have not been known to establish themselves in lakes.

The Northern Smallmouth Bass does quite well in lakes and is highly sought after. At least in the Lower 48. I’ve encountered numerous Canadians that consider it a trash fish and much prefer catching walleye or even crappie. To each their own!

I don’t mind catching either to be honest. I tend to over-glorify the smallmouth bass and definitely place it on a pedestal. Even to the point where I don’t keep them, instead, releasing them immediately.

When I’m up North I tend to target the Smallies almost exclusively. Sure I’ll keep a walleye if the opportunity presents itself, but the Smallies go back. A long time ago I read something about how old a trophy Smallmouth would be…(if I recall correctly) it was around the 15-20 year mark! To me that’s incredible…but I’m not a Fish Biologist. Knowing how many other toothy fish are swimming in the same lakes…living to that age says a lot!

And that’s yet another reason why I have such respect and reverence for the Smallmouth. In my mind, it is a worthy opponent that deserves my best efforts. And I’m grateful for each and every one I catch…dink OR donkey! Thanks for reading.

One Of The Best Men I’ve Ever Known…

My friend Dennis is a humble guy with a big heart and more patience than the law allows. He’s older than me, old enough to be my father in fact, but we’ve had a pile of adventures together. I’m truly blessed to know him and consider him a true friend. By his definition…”a true friend is someone you call for bail money in the middle of the night, a true friend asks ‘how much’ NOT ‘what did you do’?” He has a way with words that makes a guy think.

I was in the middle of a divorce and whining about how I never drank, didn’t do drugs, went to work everyday etc. And BAM! He dropped a wisdom bomb on me…he said, “those are things you’re supposed to do, you don’t get extra credit for THAT!” So true.

When it comes to politics we are diametrically opposed. And boy have we had some humdingers for arguments! But no matter what, I respect him and we end up realizing (somewhere in the political middle) that we’re really not that far apart.

I count my true friends on one hand…people I would take a bullet for…he’s one of them. Maybe in some weird way its a “Fishing Mafia” and since I’ll take a bullet for you…that extends to your whole family. Weird I know. But that’s how it is.

He and I have paddled all over the BWCA (Boundary Waters Canoe Area) and had a blast during all of it. He was right next to me when I was handed a whiskey bottle and “you betcha” he took a long pull too.

I have no idea what he saw in me and it was fate that brought us into contact. But I count my lucky stars. He has a way of reading people better than anyone I’ve ever seen.

How he put up with my youthful arrogance I’ll never know. He wanted to take everyone to the Boundary Waters. I wanted to seal it off and only allow certain people in. I was one of them of course. Youth! He didn’t understand the depth of my reverence for the area. It was hallowed ground to me and I only wanted to share it with like-minded people. It wasn’t a trip to Disneyland like most people acted…I thought it was akin to visiting one of the Great Cathedrals and demanded they show respect.

Over the decades that we’ve been friends he has begun to understand my thought process on the subject. And for that matter I’ve accepted his position as well. I’ve taken all four of my kids and my wife up there so they could get a glimpse of the splendor and quite possibly a peek into how I think and operate.

Dennis and I had talked about a trip together, just the two of us for 20 some odd years. We finally pulled it off and it was amazing. One of the all-time best trips ever. We boated in, set up a base camp and explored new waters for the first time. No schedule, no itinerary…just an actual vacation. We finally felt that we didn’t have to “earn it” by only paddling our way in.

There is not another soul that I would hunker down with in the woods. A storm so fierce that it flooded our camp and forced us to seek shelter under the tree canopy. Cold rain water pouring down my spine from a defective rain jacket…laughing like mad men and passing a whiskey bottle back and forth among the lightning and thunder claps, and daring the storm to get worse!

Good Times with True Friends!

A Day in the Life of a “Guide”

I hope you dear readers don’t mind me sharing these memories. It’s the middle of winter and I’m stuck waiting for warmer weather and the fishing to kick off. So as I sit here sipping my coffee, I’m throwing some filler material into my blog.

As I’ve stated elsewhere, I’m not “Guide Material” but on this particular trip that’s what they called me. Turns out I was more of a “Navigator/Sheep Herder.”

Day One started out normal. I was co-leading a youth group from a Lutheran Church on their first “epic adventure.” (Red Flag #1.)

As usual it took forever to get everyone off the portage and onto the water heading in the right direction. (I will speed this week up as fast as possible to keep from boring you to death.) End of Day One was uneventful and we made the 13.5 mile paddle to our first campsite.

Day Two started off in question. The kid in charge of navigation (Red Flag #2) informed us that he had forgotten the maps back in the van. Yeehaw! I must interject here that this was a co-ed crew and as such it had a Female Leader. You want to see a city person go off the deep end? Tell them we don’t have maps and we’re deep in the Wilderness. They absolutely lose it. My buddy, being the stoic he was…looked at her and said, “you wanted an adventure!”

Fortunately, I have a good memory and had a decent idea where we needed to go. So off we went.

I was doing “my thing” and we were heading where we needed to go. With all the muttering and second-guessing going on from the back of the group, I knew it was going to be a long day. And boy was it! After 8 hours of solid paddling we slipped through a shortcut that I remembered and tried to enter out onto the main body of water. Nothing doing. The wind was absolutely howling! The waves were huge. I paddled over to the co-leaders and said we need to find a campsite and sit this out. Nothing doing. They were hell bent on getting to the campsite that was on their itinerary. I cajoled them, I consoled them to no avail. (Red Flag #3)

I gathered up my flock and ordered everyone to cinch up their PFD’s and get off of their seats and onto their knees. I told them to buddy up, paddle hard and keep the bow pointed into the wind. Also, if they tipped, they needed to hang onto the canoe and let the wind push them to a shore and that I wouldn’t be able to get to them before the wind blew them out of reach. It was white-knuckle time!

The waves were so big that when I looked over to my buddy canoe they would drop out of sight after they crested a wave. What should have taken 25 minutes to cross ended up taking 3 hours. But we made it! I fixed dinner that night and made sure everyone was taken care of. I huddled with the co-leaders and voiced my displeasure at their decision. I ordered a rest day as these kids were done for and needed time. Not one single argument was presented. We had covered 26 miles of water from 0600-2115. Helluva day in anyone’s book.

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully until the last day. The weather changed big time. The temps were dropping and the rain was coming down. We were miserable. The only obstacle confronting us was the last portage. A half-miler uphill and it always turned into a muck-fest when it rained.

The kids shouldered their packs and paddles and headed up to the parking lot and the waiting van. I ended up making that round trip 3 times. Once with my gear and twice carrying canoes. My friend and I were whooped.

The rain intensified and I was struggling to get the canoes onto the van and strapped down. It’s really frustrating being cold and soaking wet trying to stow gear and lash everything down while 12 sets of eyes are staring at you from inside the warm, dry van. But it had to be done and we completed the task.

Then, from the distance I hear a voice shouting at me (Red Flag #4-or so I thought!) Standing 50 yards away was an older gentleman who was getting ready to begin his trip into the Wilderness. He and his crew had been watching us struggle to button everything up and finish our trip. He took one look at me and the van, which said “something something Lutheran Church” and asked my friend and I “are you boys Christians?” (SideNote: my teeth are chattering and I’m drenched to the bone. Picture the proverbial Drowned Rat!) I’m not going to lie…I was mad as a hornet at the lack of help from our own crew. I looked that man dead in the eye and said “not today!” He smiled at me and from behind his back pulled a big bottle of Hudson’s Bay Whiskey out and handed it to me. You betcha I took a long pull on it! I thanked the gentleman profusely and wished him well on his adventure. Finally glad to feel warm again, I headed back to the van to begin the long ride home. My friend and I agreed to down-grade it to a Pink Flag!

For the rest of you…be careful what you wish for and safe paddles!

Right or Left?

Let’s get this out of the way right now. All rights to this advert belong to Redington. I pulled it off the web and I must say…it’s the best damn advert I’ve ever seen! As a “tip of the hat” to them…I bought some Redington gear.

So anyway, back to the debate. Right or Left? And I’m referring to reel retrieval and whether its correct to reel with the left hand. According to my Dad “I’m doing it wrong.” According to another fishing buddy…”looks like you’ve got polio or sumthin.”

So what’s the big deal? ALL of my spinning reels are set up to be left-handed. (NOTE: the above mentioned experts have their spinning reels set up just like mine) The problem comes when I pull out my baitcasters, they’re left-handers. Talk about turning heads!

To me it makes complete sense! I cast with my right arm and retrieve with my left hand. Simple enough. But that’s NOT how you do it! What you HAVE to do is cast with your right arm, switch the rod to your left hand and reel with your right hand. To me it’s inefficient. Why add an extra step to the process???

In truth I believe it boils down to Day One. How you’re taught with what’s handed to you. It’s part of the human genome to “figure it out and make it work.” ME? I just bought a left-handed reel and started casting. My Dad never realized that the Zebco 33 he bought me was a LEFTY! I was completely dumbfounded and uncoordinated when he handed me anything else. If you want to demonstrate a bird’s nest, just hand me a right-handed baitcaster. But hey…I could troll with the best of them.

So…I’m more efficient by eliminating a step, just as accurate, just as capable of catching fish and as a bonus…nobody asks to borrow my rod! Who’s doing it wrong???

Don’t Ever Tell Me I Can’t Do Something..

It’s April 1998 and I’m rapidly losing my ability to walk. Sciatica is killing me…pain in my back is excruciating. I was 27 years old and had recently passed my 6 months probationary period at a new job. I was left with 2 choices…put a gun to my head or go see a doctor.

The X-ray and MRI showed my back was broken in two places. I was involved in a head-on car wreck 2 years earlier, Valentines Day 1996. I just didn’t know it.

The damage was so bad that my Orthopedic surgeon pulled out his flip phone and called my insurance company direct. Surgery was the ONLY option. I remember him putting his hand over the phone and asking me if I needed time to think about it or if I was OK with surgery. This was a Wednesday. I said I was fine with the surgery (desperate for relief). I was on the operating table that Friday morning.

It was a 7 and a half hour surgery, everything a Neurosurgeon and Orthopedic surgeon could do to a lower back…they did! It took 29 staples to close up that 7.5 inch incision, the end result being that it looked like a zipper! I was classified as a 1 percenter. After I had healed from the initial surgery, the doctors said there wasn’t much in the way of physical therapy for it. They started listing off things I’d never be able to do again.

At moments like that a person has 2 choices…go with the flow or swim upstream. I mentally started swimming for the “spawning grounds!” If you’ve ever seen salmon trying to surmount a waterfall, you’ll understand. That’s what it seems like…an insurmountable obstacle. I started pushing myself HARD.

One year after the operation and I was back to playing soccer, rock climbing, backpacking and fishing. I was able to portage my beloved canoe again deep in the Wilderness (and a good fishing buddy put a handicap sticker on my canoe…lol). Six lag bolts and two rods gave me my life back. Where there’s a will there’s a way! Never tell me I’m done!!! I’ll tell YOU when I’m finished.

23 years later and I’m still going….