Is it me?

I Love Red Breasts...sunfish that is!

Looking back on the last 12 months, it turns out that I have spent more time fly fishing and mountain biking by myself than with my buds.  I wondered why no one wants to go with me.  True…I am picky about who I spend time with in the woods.  If we hike five miles into a mountain stream, I want to know you can carry my sorry ass out to the car should I turn my ankle.  I want to know that you’ll fish as long as I do.  I want to know that you can change your own flat tire.  I want to know that you prefer Fat Tire over Bud Light.  So if I’m picky and spending most of my fishing and biking alone, that begs the question, 

“Is it me?”

I recently pondered that very question as I strung up my five weight and headed to the Eno River…by myself.  I don’t have many free Saturday’s due to my scouting stuff so I relish days I can fish.  I emailed a good fishing buddy and he called me…said he was headed to one of our favorite trout streams in the mountains but didn’t think I could go due to family obligations.  I said, “hell yes I can go…just let me clear it with my better half.”  When I called him back to let him know I was good to go, he told me that another person that previously couldn’t go, now wanted to and this stream just doesn’t handle three anglers.  I knew that and backed out quickly so that my buddy wouldn’t be caught between a rock and a tough drift.  He was appreciative.  So as I hiked alone to the Eno that morning, I thought, “dang, that was a nice thing I did.”

And it was.

I do a lot of unselfishing things but yet…especially within my fly fishing circles…I have a reputation of being, I don’t know…an asshole?!

A Monster Shell Cracker

By now I reached the river, and spent the next six hours fishing waters I love.  I had a good day piscatorially speaking. I managed to complete the Eno grand slam which includes a coveted Roanoke bass, gorgeous red breasted sunfish, a lean and mean river largemouth, and of course a big ‘ole horny head…a fine river chub that exceeded 14 inches!  Certainly my mojo and karma didn’t mind fishing with me.  I even managed a whopper of a shell cracker sunfish.

Yet fly fishing was second string on this day…trying to figure out why I was fly fishing alone yet again was foremost on my mind.  I couldn’t shake the question, 

“Is it me?”

I sat down on a rock near a really neat shoal on the river.  It’s an old mill site.  The Eno is littered with old mill sites…truly the community’s life blood of that time…now the life blood that keeps me goin’.  The Eno is an intimate river and some of its sections I know better than anyone, yet I could spend the rest of my life exploring them.  Fortunately, nature changes her…like many rivers it is a dynamic living thing, as fickle as any woman and just as sexy.

A Favorite Spot on the Eno River

I spend a lot of time fly fishing her…maybe that’s why I fish alone.  No one likes a fly fishing “orgy” unless you are fishing the Roanoke River spring shad and/or striped bass fishing run or our famed fall false albacore blitz on the North Carolina Crystal Coast.  Hell, I could fish those fisheries by myself and never be alone!

Interestingly, in my scouting circles I am almost revered, but I am no different at scout events than I am fly fishing or mountain biking (ok…except for the four letter words and beer drinking which are both frowned upon at scouts of course).  My point being, I am the same person no matter what hobby or interest I pursue, yet when it comes to fly fishing especially, I fish alone.

Maybe it’s my choice…or maybe it’s me.  After spending that fine spring Saturday on the Eno all by myself I have to admit…I am a damn good fly caster and not shy about showing my skills…I can talk a lot (although no more than my accusers)…and I did hog all the best spots on the river that day just for myself.

This Bass Took Me Under a Log

But I won’t mention the trash I picked up, or how I assisted a river land owner make sure the stream buffer was protected the week before, or the Saturday I spent at a recent earth fair promoting protection of the river, or the injured mountain biker I recently helped on the trail, or the scouting family I helped during a time of need, or the countless hours I’ve spent trying to instill a conservation ethic in the scouting youth of our area.  Nope…those don’t convince anyone to go fishing with me.

Even I’m not convinced…after spending that six hours on the Eno, listening to me talk non-stop, having to laugh at my dumb jokes, watching me make better casts…casts that resulted in more caught fish, listening to me gloat all the way back to my truck, getting a lecture about my strong conservation ethic, and being forced to drink a really good micro-brew when I got home, I realized something…

Damn, “I guess it is me!”

Not a Bad Start

Thanks to the mild winter, my fly fishing got an early start this year.  As such, I’ve had some early successes and I hope that translates into good fishing all season long.  I’ve got some trips scheduled that should be great.  For now, though I’m very satisfy plying my local waters for the many species that swim there.

I’m a fly fishing list guy…I like to track how many different species of fish I’ve caught in a lifetime, a year or even a day.  My best day is eight different species.  I’ve caught at least 16 different species out of my home river, the Eno.  Periodically I get to travel and add species like bonefish or tarpon.  I’ve caught six different species of trout, four different species of black bass, nine species of sunfish, not to mention carp, chubs, suckers, various species of catfish all on a fly and fly rod.

I’m not trying to brag here…or maybe I am…but I’m intrigued with adding new species to my life list or seeing how many different species of fish I can catch on the fly each year.  So far 2012 is stacking up to be a good year for my species list.  To date I’ve caught chain pickerel, black crappie, white bass, bluegill and red breast sunfish…and we are just getting started.

Today I fished for white bass again, but had little luck…no white bass and no new species, just a bluegill and crappie.  Once the white bass run is done, I’ll focus on spawning runs of hickory shad and striped bass.  I’ll soon set my sights on largemouth bass from the Eno and my favorite the Roanoke Bass.  I’ll mix in trips to the mountains for native brookies , wild rainbows and browns.

There will be the inevitable trips for carp and of course one of my favorites smallmouth bass.  I’ll no doubt head to the coast and chase redfish, speckled trout, Spanish mackerel, and false albacore.  We’ve got a family trip planned to Colorado this summer…perhaps I’ll get a shot at one of the cutthroat species native to Colorado which would be new to my life list (I have caught the Snake River species).

So whether its bragging or not, I’m excited at the prospect of catching different species of fish on my fly rod.

This year is off to a good start.

And say…if find yourself in my neck of the woods, I’d like to challenge you to beat my one day total.  Are you up for it?  If you are, we’ll finish the day working on my other favorite list…different local brews.

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!