veloxseeker

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….

I Thought I Wanted to be a Fishing Guide

After my first fishing trip up North, I thought I “might” want to be a fishing guide. In my mind it was my dream job. On several occasions throughout the years I have been offered guiding positions with several outfitters. Believe me, it was tempting. I truly felt honored by their offers, but the timing was never right.

But the “timing issue” was a cop out. In reality, I just couldn’t stomach being around people who truly didn’t belong there, in what I considered God’s Country. They belonged in a National Park setting or KOA…not deep Wilderness. Ask anyone who has fished with me a full day and they’ll tell you that I don’t say much. I don’t suffer fools very well either. If you talk the talk then you’d better walk the walk.

I’ve seen a grown man throw a hissy fit because they didn’t have enough milk for their cereal. Nevermind that we’re 60 miles from anywhere. I’ve seen grown men sit in a chair for a week reading the same Wall Street Journal and drinking themselves into oblivion when they professed to be hardcore fisherman.

In 25+ trips up North, I’ve had the pleasure to fish with four REAL fishermen(women). They fished hard, all day long. They didn’t complain, they did what needed to be done and we had great days on the water. We bonded around the evening campfire by reliving the day’s events. Those folks passed muster! And to be clear, I made it known to any and all that went with us what was expected of them and what the conditions were like. Zero Lodges, Zero Room Service. Everyone had a job to do.

Our trips were Spartan affairs. We roughed it and earned every fish we caught. We portaged and paddled everywhere we went as if we had to pay our dues and show respect to the Fishing Gods. Those three gentleman and one lady earned my respect and gratitude. They earned every bit of those adventures. (In fact, I married that lady!)

So it boils down to people skills! I’m a loner by nature and changing diapers and wiping noses isn’t something I’m willing to do for an adult. Not happening. My initial thoughts of becoming a Fishing Guide were doomed to failure from the start. I’m just not Guide material. And realizing that was a good thing. And I’m sure it was a good thing for everyone else to. My passion for fishing is still intact and never became a job I hated.

The “Nutter Express”

As I mentioned previously…if you fish with me you’ll be laughing!

So there I was! I’m tired, flat worn out. But I have 4 miles of downstream travel to get back to the car. It sounds simple enough but in reality there’s a lot of wading involved and walking on gravel all day takes a toll on you.

As we started the slog back to the car in the afternoon heat and blazing sun we were not looking forward to it. But something had caught my eye on the way upstream. An idea began to hatch and a plan developed. Around the bend in a log jam was an air mattress I spotted earlier. Hmm, is it possible?

Now I want you to picture this in your mind. An air mattress, not just any air mattress I might add. This thing was HIDEOUS! It was pink…HOT PINK. And to top it off, it had something akin to fake diamonds glued to it. The Horror of it all.

But as I said before…I was tired! So what does any self-respecting fisherman do? (HINT: they walk on by and keep going)…but me? You guessed it! I fished it out of the log jam, cleaned the mud and slime off of it and headed to the water’s edge. Believe it or not, this little beauty was still full of air and floated gracefully…not with me on it, but still, I had a hare-brained idea that sounded perfectly feasible. To this day I still blame the heat!

To my credit (and my wife’s chagrin!) I floated (sort of) almost all the way back to the takeout. It was a race by the way, I’m sure the wife was trying to put distance between the “nut job” floating down the river on a pink air mattress and hoping nobody put two and two together.

But do not worry! We passed nary a soul on the way down and because I’m a “macho kind of guy” I pulled up short before the river bent around a wide sweeping turn. Out of sight, I secretively stashed my trusty craft and casually walked the rest of the way to the car…much to the relief of the wife. All’s well that… ahem…has no witnesses. Fish On!

Thanks Dad!

Maybe it’s COVID, maybe it is because it’s the middle of winter and I’m chomping at the bit to go fishing…I’m not sure. But I find myself deep in contemplation lately, reminiscing if you will.

I would be remiss if I didn’t give a shout out to my Dad. He was the driving force who got me into fishing…whether I liked it or not. In some ways I think he just needed a “first mate” to handle all of the little things on the boat that needed doing. But in other ways I could tell he enjoyed it tremendously and wanted to open up that world to me. I’m glad he did.

I remember the hours of casting practice in the front yard. Casting a hookless plug into a 5 gallon bucket until I could do it 10 times in a row. No mean feat when using a Zebco 33 on a limp noodle rod. I remember being woken up at 3am and handed a cold glass of milk and told to drink it. Standing like a zombie in the kitchen making cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches for the day. That’s ALL we ate while fishing. Throw in a Mason jar of iced tea and one of water and we were on our way.

I remember my Dad up front in the boat, casting away with his brand new Shimano Calcutta while I’m in the back with a squeaky 33 performing surgery on it just to keep it running, hoping one day for an upgrade to something better. The Oklahoma heat was so bad that it would melt whatever glue they attached the rubber grip to the rod with. Sometimes I really thought about just casting it over the side and being done with it once and for all. Maybe then I could get an upgrade.

I remember swearing in front of my father for the first time. I had hooked a monster bass off of a rocky point and it was too much for me to handle. I handed him the rod and the beast spit the hook. That swear word is still echoing across the lake. And I knew I was DEAD! Nope, he said “that was a really nice fish”, ignored my faux pas, and went straight back to fishing. That was my Dad at his finest…all business. Years later on a trip to Canada, we were sitting around the fire late in the evening and that moment came up. He professed such deep sorrow for losing that fish…he had carried that guilt for decades. A good man right there.

We fished together for years and I loved every minute of it. Wish we could still fish together in fact. But he lives in Canada and I’m here in Oklahoma. Age has taken his ability to fish but his mind is sharp as ever. Life happens.

Anyway, I’ll raise my glass and thank him…Love You Pop!