The Perfect Day?

While typically the winter months see a slow down for me, that’s not the reason I haven’t posted in awhile.  Actually the mild winter we are having here in North Carolina has allowed me some really good outdoor activities.  I got to do some wild trout fishing in the mountains with good buddy Cope, just before Christmas.  After Christmas, I spent a day with two more fly fishing buddies Malcolm and Jim as we chased stripers with the long rod on Kerr Lake.  There was also a day with my step-son busting quail at our local hunting preserve, and of course there were several good mountain bike rides.

I got to ring in New Year’s Eve with my band mates, Will Baker and the Sticky Wickets.  We really rocked ‘em at the Bean and Barrel.  We crashed at my drummer’s house that night…or should I say morning.  I think we finally went to bed about 3:30am.  I haven’t done that in a few years!  It was worth it…even the young crowd liked our rendition of Bowie’s “Heroes” and yes I play my harp on that one too…using a few cool effects.

Most recently, we had a mild February Saturday that allowed me a great ride in the morning at my home trail in Little River park.  I felt good although there are a couple of short climbs that had me huffin and puffin but not too bad.  I finished the ride before the rains set in and closed the trail.  It was great to be in the woods.  That afternoon I was supposed to fish a local stream for some “jacks” also known as chain pickerel.  They spawn in February typically, so I figured they would be active, especially given our mild winter.  Cope was going to join me but bagged it because it looked like rain and cooler temps would move into our area.

The rain held off enough and I went anyway…I am a stormwater guy after all.  I hiked into New Hope Creek, known for a good population of jacks.  I stopped at a pool where I’d caught a 20 incher before and the hole didn’t fail me this time either.  I caught two there…caught a few more as I worked my way downstream.  None of ‘em were too big…about 12 inches is all, except for the one that broke me off and got away.  That one had to be over 24 inches…had to be because I broke it off and that’s how fish stories are told.  A fish in the hand has a definite size…a fish broken off has the ability to keep growin’.

The day ended with a good stout from a local brewery…first time I had been there.  I’m not sure why I waited so long.  So let’s recount the day, February, mountain bikin’, fly fishing for jacks, and a hardy stout.  I guess it was a perfect day!

The Best Laid Plans of Outdoors and Men

I got a call early this fall from my younger brother, Tex.  He was planning a trip east with a stop in my neck of the woods.  I knew he would want to do a little hunting and fishing.  Since his arrival looked like it would be timed perfectly with our coastal False Albacore blitz, and he had never caught one on a fly rod, I decided that would be the thing to do.

I spent the next couple of weeks looking at tide charts, weather patterns, moon phases and fishing reports.  Autumn weather here is often predictable with cold fronts coming through at regular intervals.  This helps you select days where the wind and temperatures will be favorable.  This coupled with favorable tides, can help point to the days that will be the best to fish.  Based on this information, I booked a couple of days with my guide buddy George.  Yep…with my vast knowledge of the great outdoors I figured I had maximized our chances of albie success.

I was wrong.

Albies 0, Specks 75

Rods Rigged, Tex Ready...bring on the fish!

George called me the day before.  NONE of the guides had seen an albie the past few days let alone catch one.  A late season tropical low pressure system that developed in the southern Atlantic was moving north and really messed things up, despite what would have been favorable conditions otherwise.  I told George that I wanted to try it anyway, as long as we had a plan B.

We met George at his boat the next morning still holding on to a glimmer of optimism.  We headed out, but the further off the beach we went, the rougher the ocean got.  What was worse…no birds, no bait, no albies.  After giving it a decent shot, we headed into the rock jetty near Cape Lookout and anchored up alongside the other fifty boats.  There I rigged up my flyrod with a sinking line, cast towards the rocks and let my Clouser minnow fly sink.  Strip, strip, strip and bam, fish on!  While not an albie it was nice to have something tugging on my fly line.  We spent the rest of the day casting toward the rocks and catching mostly speckled trout schooled up along the jetty.  We caught quite a few, including some nice keepers that we threw into the cooler. 

Our Guide Really Blows

Our guide really blows...fish!

Action on the jetty slowed and so we hoisted anchor and headed to the beach along Shackleford Banks.  There George climbed his tower and we slowly motored our way back to Beaufort Inlet.  From his tower George could spot “spot tails” better known as redfish or puppy drum here in North Carolina.  They often school up this time a year right on the beaches.  No drum were spotted.  We even hit the mouth of a tidal creek on the way back in, but no fish there either.  Despite my best laid plans, Tex was still “albie-less.”  Sure we had a blast busting speck after speck and I could taste those fresh fillets hot of my charcoal grill, but as we headed back to the dock I knew our quest for albies was done (at least for this trip).  As I settled up with George we discussed fishing the next day.  We decided that a one day of specks on sinking fly lines was enough for awhile.  George finished cleaning the fish…we kept some that he could take home, including a blowfish caught off the jetty.  I knew George loved fishing but when he put his lips smack dab on the fish and blew it up like a balloon I LMAO!  Amazingly, he cut too small fillets off the fish, said they were awesome tasting.  I took his word for it as we opted to stick with the trout.

Now, Plan C

Tex and I hopped into his tricked out F250, four wheel drive, hunting and fishing machine and headed towards home.  On the way I finally found a really good use for my smart phone.  I emailed my good friend DB to inquire about moving up our quail hunting date since Tex and I had an open day now that the fish weren’t cooperating.  “Sure,” was the reply.

DB is an avid hunter and is fellow scout leader.  He is “semi-retired” and operates a controlled hunting preserve about 10 miles from my house.  It’s “controlled” because he raises quail and when you want to “hunt” them you put them out in the field.  While to some this doesn’t sound very sporting, it actually is.  DB uses English setters to flush and retrieve birds.  The birds can be unpredictable when they take flight, and you still have to be able to hit a moving target.  Sure, I would much rather hunt wild quail, but sadly, there are almost none in our area. Invasive predators like coyotes, past farming practices, and most importantly loss of habitat has essentially eliminated wild quail in any kind of huntable numbers.  At least this way, we were guaranteed to get a nice bag limit of birds.

I was wrong. 

Hot, Hot, Hot?

Typically early November here in central North Carolina brings chilly mornings and mild afternoons. Unfortunately, we were experiencing an almost “indian summer.”  It was beautiful by any other standards, but the afternoon got up into the mid 70’s.  This made it difficult for the dog to hold scent on the birds, which meant she spent a lot more time finding them, tiring herself out a lot quicker.  This cut our day of quail shooting a little short, but we did manage to bag enough birds to complement our speckled trout from the day before.  After cleaning the birds, we settled up with DB…the fee is always the same, beer.  After enjoying a cold brew, checking out DB’s gun room one more time we headed home.

A Feast the Size of Tex

Yes...those two will fit on my grill!

My younger brother is 6 feet 4 inches and about 220 pounds.  He keeps himself in great shape, but man can he eat!  Couple that with three teenage boys and I wasn’t sure if we had enough speckled trout and quail.  I fired up my charcoal grill…using lump charcoal and no lighter fluid…seasoned up the fish and birds and worked my grilling magic.  It was quite a feast and there was plenty to go around but none left over.  It was only fitting that all my hard work planning these outings would result in nourishment for my body.  And to think…had we had a stellar day fishing for albies we wouldn’t have had this feast since very few folks eat false albacore.  I tried it once…that was enough.

Wouldn't you plan to fish on a day like this?

While the best laid plans of outdoorsmen don’t always pan out…you can’t beat having something in the pan.  Thanks brother…it was a great time!

Blues, Blues and Brews

Rigging my 10-weight

Winds and tides looked favorable for a trip the Crystal Coast of NC.  Late October can be a special time on the coast because fish are moving...some moving out, some moving in…and if you find them fishing turns into catching.  My only concern was the amount rain earlier in the week…that influx of fresh water often makes fish hard to locate.

With that little bit of uncertainty I wanted to make sure taking a day off and heading to the coast had some sort of guarantee that the trip would be a success. That’s why we did some careful planning beforehand. We checked tides, winds, forecasts, charts, maps, and reports.  We readied our rods, reels, flies, rigs, lures and hooks. 

Sure, I know what you are thinking…no matter how well you prepare it’s still fishing.  How can one guarantee a successful fishing trip when so many things are out of one’s control?  Simple…we also readied our guitars, microphones, sound system, and harps.  We being me and Will-B.  Will-B is my good friend and front man of our band the Sticky Wickets.  He’s also owner of Will-B-Music and Will-B-Reel’n fishing adventures and is a pretty good home brewer to boot.  In fact, on this trip he was bringing a growler of his chocolate stout and had us a gig lined up at Harrika’s Brew House.  With the beer and music in place, the trip was guaranteed a success.

The Will-B-Reel'n Fishing Team

We fished both inshore and near shore along the beaches this trip, and while we did manage to catch a fair number of Spanish mackerel, they were small.  Sure, Will-B caught a huge toadfish, but because of their looks, you can hardly call them a “trophy”.  I was hoping to get into some false albacore on the fly, but not only didn’t we catch any, we didn’t even see any.  We tried for some speckled trout too, but to no avail.  Nope, the only fish we caught of any size worth mentioning were some bluefish.

So with only a couple of blues to show for our efforts, we didn’t get the blues but rather we played the blues…while drinking brews at Harrika’s.  It was sort of an open mic thing hosted by Will-B and I was thrilled to play a set with him.  Sure there were some others that got up and played some tunes, but the crowd seemed to want more Will-B, and that meant more of me.  At one point that evening, Will-B jammed on the drums while several folks jammed on the guitar and me on my harp.  We even had a dueling harmonica thing going at one point. 

Jammin' at Harrika's

The owner’s of Harrika’s seemed to like our playing and Will-B “warned” me that if they liked me, my glass would never be half full (or empty).  He was right…we had some good drafts that evening, and my glass never reached the bottom.  At the end of the night I got to pick out 6 beers from their awesome selection to take home…best payment I ever got for blowin’ my harp (next to band appreciation night at Will-B-Music!).

So thanks Will-B and Harrika’s…some folks might have been disappointed with just a couple of blues, but add some blues and brews and it was a helluva weekend on the Crystal Coast.

29er and Holding…

29er and Holding…uh, I mean Rolling



Tbone is 29er and Rolling!

Clouds hung low like a shroud, while light rain fell.  Foreshadowing perhaps? After all, I had never ridden more than 10 miles of single track at one time, let alone race for 14.  My old roadie days, my old roadie ways wouldn’t help me today.  The trail didn’t care that I completed 4 century’s while 29.  The trail didn’t care that I averaged a blistering 27 mph in a crit, while I was 29.  The trail didn’t care that I was closer to 49 than 29.  The trail only cared about beating me…me and my 29er.

Those 29 inch wheels, responsive handling, plush full suspension, would they keep me rolling?  Would they help me beat the trail?  The trail was well equipped too…narrow single track, steep climbs, rocky descents, roots the size of logs, and logs the size of trees, twists and turns, and oh yeah, rain.



Me and My Son after the race

Sure the rain stopped by race time and the trail was in pretty good shape, but it was just a year earlier that a wet log, barely the height of a curb sent me endo, the trail punctuating my fall with a broken rib.  Sure I could tell myself that I’m 29 and holding, but who was I kidding?  I am just a year from 49…a far piece from 29.

But I had a pair of 29’s under me.  I was ready, it was time for my first ever mountain bike race.  I didn’t care where I finished.  I only cared about beating one guy with the initials D.N.F.  I only cared about beating the trail.



The starter said go and I was off...rolling on my 29er.  I respected the trail and didn’t go out too fast.  The trail started trash talking and sent a rider ahead of me to the ground.  I kept my mouth shut.  Soon the trail threw another racer a curve, but not me…I kept rolling, rolling on my 29er.

Aaron took 1st Place in his division
I wasn't last in mine!

I’m happy to report that I was 29 and rolling…those big wheels rolled over a tricky log and allowed me to pass another racer.  I passed a few others, I wasn’t last!  Me and my 29er were still in one piece.  I beat the trail.  Sure the time beside my name was a larger number than my 17 year-old son’s and several folks nearly 10 years my senior, but at least there was a number…DNF did not appear next to my name that day...nope, I was 29ers and rolling!

Mojo Revisited

One new voicemail…hmmmm…who would have called me so early on a workday?  It was Cope. His message said, “Dude…you don’t look so good, are you sick? You should take the day off and I have the perfect remedy.”

He was of course talking about taking the day off and fishing the Eno River again.  He was trying to find some mojo.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t fish with him that day because I had to leave for a scout camp out after work and hadn’t finished packing yet.  If I was to take any time off from work that day it was to pack my gear for the campout.

Later that day as my boys and I got ready to leave, I checked my phone. There were five missed calls from Cope and one voice mail.

“Oh no,” I thought, “was he hurt? Was there something wrong with the river? Did he need to borrow some flies that would work?”

Hurriedly, I checked my message.  Sure enough, it was Cope and he was as frantic as I had ever heard him.

“Duuuuude, where are you?!  I need…I need…to celebrate,” Cope’s message said.

There is really just one thing Cope would have called about needing to celebrate. It had to be a BIG fish story.  I dialed his number and Cope answered…he was as giddy as a school girl.  Now, before I tell you what had him so giddy…if you recall from my last blog, Cope and I had spent the day fishing the Eno and I had landed a great bass on my five weight.  Cope called it the biggest he had ever seen out of the Eno River.  I told him I had seen much bigger…heck I had caught a couple bigger.

Well if Cope doubted then, he no longer doubts now.  Cope landed a 24-inch lunker that he estimated at seven pounds.  What’s more, he caught in on a deer hair popper that he tied himself.  As a fly fisherman I can tell you there isn’t anything much better than landing a quality fish on a fly you tied.  Now that’s mojo…way to go Cope!

Got My Mojo Workin'



Will B and Tbone

Muddy Waters has always been one of my favorite blues artists, especially when Little Walter was blowin’ harp with him…but does mojo really exist?  More importantly, if you got mojo how do you keep it?  This has been a subject of many recent conversations between my fly fishing buddies. 

Some people seem to have mojo, while others seem to bring mojo to their buddies.  One of my long time fishing buddies from Texas has always seemed to catch lots more quality fish when I fish with him.  I remember one day on the Laguna Madre in Texas…I just released a nice speckled trout of about six pounds only to turn around and see John bust a 33-inch snook.  Then there was the time we were bass fishing on a well known Texas lake…he caught just a dozen that day (all on topwater) the smallest weighed in at five pounds and the biggest just over eight!  I caught two dinks.

What about my buddy Cope?  Recently on a trip to Colorado he was skunked while his fishing partner that day was tearing ‘em up.  Cope asked his buddy to come watch his technique and check his rig.  Cope was throwing the same flies, rigged the same way and was getting plenty of drag free drifts but no fish.  His buddy walked over to figure out what he was doing wrong and, WHAM!  Cope caught a trout.  He caught another while his buddy watched and as soon as he walked away?  Not even a nibble.

That seems like mojo to me…and mine was working over the Labor Day weekend.  It started out with some  good training rides for my upcoming inaugural mountain bike race.  After those rides, I think I might be able to complete this dang race.  It ended with me wailing on a few tunes with good friends, Will B and Tommy G at a local venue.

Concentrating Cope...nothing wrong with his technique

In between there was a day long trip on my home water, the Eno River…and yes my mojo was workin’ there too.  Cope joined me on this trip.  I think he is good mojo for me.  Sure, I’ve been skunked on a trip while fishing with Cope, but there was no mojo strong enough to overcome ridiculously poor fishing conditions.

Conditions weren’t a problem this day.  Sure the Eno was low, but the largemouth bass, Roanoke bass and the Redbreast sunfish were hungry.  We stuck to surface flies…I threw a stealth bomber pattern (a foam diver type fly) and Cope started out with some great dear hair poppers and sliders he tied.  Those flies looked like they had mojo…but the bomber had more.  By the end of the day, Cope was throwing a stealth bomber too…he knew they had mojo…he caught a 4-pound largemouth on one while fishing the Haw River, but alas it didn’t have enough mojo for him this day.

Cope is a Roanoke-in



I think I used up his mojo…I caught several healthy rod bending bass.  I even had one dive under a rock and wouldn’t come out until I reached down and grabbed him…leader in tact; now that’s mojo!  I caught lots of sunfish…three different species, and a nice Roanoke Bass in addition to the hungry largemouths.  Cope had some nice Roanokes too and plenty of sunfish, but busted off one bass and had another unbutton itself from his fly; that’s mojo that just ain’t workin’.

A nice Roanoke Bass on a stealth bomber

Of course I should have known my mojo was workin’ that day…while Cope caught the first fish of the day, I caught the largest on about my third or fourth cast; a hefty Eno largemouth, and while I’ve seen bigger in the river…I’ve only seen one larger than this that was also chewing on one of my flies.  Oh and don’t let me forget to once again explain that these are river bass…they are strong, jump high and fight hard…and to think this river is literally right in my back yard.

Now before I end this story, I want to apologize to Cope.  The Eno is a small river and we fished side by side frequently…I fished river right, while he fished river left.  There was more than one occasion when my five weight sent a stealth bomber on a fly by…his ear!  I also think I may have fished ahead of him a little too much (even though I did tell him to fish faster) which may explain why my mojo was out workin’ his.

This is in my backyard!

But like any good fishing buddy, I didn’t feel bad about catching more or bigger fish…instead I invited Cope and his lovely bride to dinner and a cold beer. 

So after fishing, I grilled up some awesome chicken and then we all headed to a local venue for another beer and some good music with Will B and Tommy G.  Will B was playing one of his famous “one man band” shows and allowed me to get up and wail on some tunes…and wail I did, because after all…I had my mojo workin’!



I got my mojo workin' and it's workin on you!