Kicking the Cat(t)

Jack has heard me speak of many tales of fishing the Cattaraugus Creek in Western New York. It had been since this past summer when we last hooked up for a day of fishing. I asked Jack if he would have a day off and sure enough, it was the same day I had. It must be close to two seasons since I last fished the "Catt". The challenge has been trying to time trips around its sensitivity to precipitation. Looking at the flow and visibility charts the other night along with a report from a good friend and fellow angler helped confirm the decision over a few other options. Jack would get to drift some new water and I was to get to fish one of my favorite rivers again. The events of the day would make this trip,  one for the books.

The plan was to get Jack his NYDEC fishing licence and hook up with another friend around 8:30am.

-     Wal-mart’s licencing system has been down for two months. (I find that hard to believe that a major US retailer would be comfortable not being able to issue hunting and fishing licences to compliment their fairly large sporting goods department.)

-     A second Wal-mart had me paying at a different department because its sporting goods counter had run out of register tape and its supply of additional rolls. ( I thought Wal-mart had excellent service. It was a supercenter for goodness sake)

-     Without warning, speed limits are reduced from 55 to 35 in a matter of meters, or feet in this case. The State Trooper was most understanding and only warned me to pay closer attention to the road signs. ( I was trying to navigate the GPS and look for the next turn off while listening to Jack’s hunting story)

-     Taking wrong turns to get to the access point and then the incorrect trail, we finally touch water. It was 10am.

Meeting time was blown so we re-routed to a long shot. The Zoar Valley is incredible. The scenery and solitude alone, is worth the several hundred feet decent (approximately 400 though it feels like double on the way up).

Jack took a few keepsake pictures.

There was only one other truck and we never crossed paths with anyone else.

With each turn and run, we were hoping for decent action in such zenquil surroundings. It was so quiet even the sound of running water seemed lost in the open gorge. Jack would be only a few yards from me but any conversations seemed long distanced.

There was not much going on and we had covered quite a bit of ground. Had the aformentioned events not happened, we may have considered exploring a little more. Time had started to become a factor and we still wanted to meet up as planned earlier.

We climbed out, made our way to another section of the river and found our friend whom was winding down his efforts with decent results. Although we only briefly shared drifts, it was great to see him again.

It was not to be a day of internet fish numbers for us though we did not go home white-striped.

Jack got his first US trib fish. It was not the size of the fish but the joy and feeling of success written on his smile that summed it all up.

Today began as a quest for new water and refreshing the soul. It ended up strengthening a friendship. Jack is now part of those many tales I will go on to tell.

Spontaneity

St Patrick’s Day used to be a big day for us. The festivities would start right after lunch and carry on until the next morning. Wake up still intoxicated and the smell of alcohol coming out through our pores. We would scramble to the nearest greasy spoon for the hangover fix since we had missed the nightcap of street meat. Not so much anymore. These days the after effects of binge boozing outweigh the day’s entertainment and the several hundreds of dollars invested in this celebration. This St. Paddy’s I would go fishing after my son’s hockey game and come home to dinner and a movie.

It was the very first thoughts as soon as I was awaken by the alarm clock. It had to be a sign, right? I figured it would be the usual day consisting of a game followed by a putter around the house for the remainder of the day only to confirm after dinner that very little was accomplished. The week had an unforeseen hectic pace and it was time to drop it down a gear. Yesterday, the goal was to slow down, chill and enjoy the river for a few hours.

On the way up, I passed an old one room schoolhouse that has remained standing against all odds. I pondered how simple life would have been. The building is an incredible site in today’s society where buildings are blown up, torn down and new ones built over top, burying history.

And then there was this home, struggling to stay upright. Protected from overgrowth and trees younger than itself, its existence may not survive too many more wind storms and harsh winters. Unless you slow down and take your eyes off the road, chances are you will miss it. Set back from the county road, it will surely be forgotten as the farmer ploughs and grows his crops around it.

Arriving at the access point mid-afternoon, the air was quite warm. The sky was clear and bright blue. The sun was high, making its way westward. Getting out of the car, I immediately started to glow. I was overdressed.  Walking to the river, it felt like April, just before trout opener. The surroundings seem to be weeks ahead of Mother Nature’s normal spring schedule. As I reached the banks, I sat for a bit before setting up. There were two others already there. I watched them cast repeatedly in the same drift until the one nodded to the other and moments later; they had their rods broken down and their chins tucked under. The river itself had a nice colour to it. Not gin clear but also not that preferred steelhead green. None the less, a call for chartreuse was in order.

For the first two hours, I was simply washing hooks and exercising the lungs. I moved from drift to drift, seam to seam, making short presentations in order to maintain line control in the fast flow. The wind was picking up but the decision was made to go to the lake section of the river to chance on what may be making an early run in. I loaded up the float to its maximum. The slightest interest would pull it under and many times, the surface current did just that. The float would pop back up and I would soon learn this was to be the norm and not necessarily that I was catching bottom. On one particular drift, I feathered the float in between two seams, into a flat spot. The float disappeared and did not return to the surface.

I spent the rest of the afternoon working the glossy slicks in what turned out to be one of the most relaxing days on the river I have had in a while.

Refreshed

Get the net!

Okay never mind. Fishing solo yesterday meant netting my own fish. Pretty easy to do on those resident trout (with those little pan nets) however it became downright humorous trying to net a fresh steelhead while crouched down off-balance. There were a few times I almost went head first into the drink. I am not fond of nets in general. They are cumbersome and a pain in the ass to bushwhack with one. It was all that I could muster to bring it to begin with. I entertained the idea only based on the area I was fishing and how awkward some of the man-made sections are to land fish.  Big chunks of natural rocks, none of which are flat or smooth like a poured pier, but all jagged and in a somewhat straight line.

With a few attempts she slipped, exhausted, in a net that should have been bigger. Not to say that it was a huge fish but sized enough that a boat net would have made the landing much easier. I was not about to tote a boat net around! If these few experiences were not enough to get me going, in a blink of an eye, the entire area was blanketed with a snowsquall. I could barely see my float at times that I even switched up to an 8g Drennan Zeppler which was complete overkill for the size of water. There were many a drift where I had no idea where the float was.  The fish actually hooked and set itself before I (instinctively) lifted the rod and clamped down on the reel feeling the tension. I did give it an extra two pumps when I realized it was not bottom.

The morning squalls would come and go. The sun broke through a few times which warmed up the hands but as the wind picked up, it was the sign to go dry off and settle the hunger pains. The snow all melted which was a relief for the drive home. As for the net, I gave it to two guys coming down the trail as I was leaving. Hopefully neither of them fell in using it.

A tale of two trips

Last Monday, the emails came out that there was no hockey or indoor soccer for the coming weekend. Over much discussion, the kids began to organize sleepovers with friends. The next day was to follow that up with a trip to Michigan to do some spending…… I mean shopping. I had fishing dancing like sugar plums in my head. Just when I was to put this into action, the plans changed. Well now. This would require more thinking. I could not let an opportunity like this slip by.  It was decided.  A spontaneous day off from work Wednesday to get in what I was to consider, to be the last ice fishing trip of this season for me. This would allow me to fish soon after, on one of the three days of the long weekend.

With that in mind, Brad and I headed up to the perch grounds so he could test out and play with some new toys Santa brought him a month previous. I would have welcomed an opportunity for some lake trout or whitefish however  this would be his only trip this season so we opted for a “sure bet”.

Amazing the little traffic there can be on a weekday. I was sure to expect we would be parking blocks from the lake. Instead, we got a spot about as close as one can have without getting a traffic infraction. The [1.4km] walk out was uneventful. No one else was around. We fired up the auger and proceeded to make swiss cheese out of the ice. (boys and their toys). We were into fish almost immediately. Fun however we seemed to only get small fish so we moved several hundred yards further.  Setting up the second time, we thought we had hit the mother lode. The flashers were lit up so thick; it was difficult to see the jigs. The action was non-stop but it became old as we were still trying to bring up big fish. At the end of the day, we kept a few for dinner but more importantly, Brad got to test out his new pop up hut and the X67.

Saturday was a new day and there were no short rods in action. They have been retired for the season. I was quite stoked to get back into the drift. With a few exchanges through texts, Rich and I were to meet up at first light. I checked the weather before turning out for the evening. I was pleasantly surprised that there was a good blanket of snow when I awoke. Great. No doubts the drive would be slow and painful. Just how painful and trying would come 35 minutes into the day as I was reduced to a 40km crawl behind a lineup of vehicles all chasing a wall of flashing blue lights. I know; it was in everyone’s safety that they were out though I have to question the mess they made with their plows. Rich could only laugh when I told him I was late this time and not lost.

The river was in nice shape. The snowfall overnight had added to the barren zenquility that is part of winter steelheading. Most of the morning was not going all that well for me.  In haste, the container of freshly tied roe was left on the front stoop. It was to be an interesting trip to fish “sans” organics in the dead of winter. Rich had offered some to me but I stubbornly refused. This was to be a challenge to see what I could do with artificial presentations. It has been a long time since I last fished in the winter with only fur and feathers. I did recant and agreed to take him up on his offer if he was to hook one more fish.

I did end up taking a fish on a white jig with orange krystal flash tied into it. A dark male fish that went ballistic off the surface a few times before straightening out the hook. The next few hours, neither of us saw any action. We took a long walk and ventured upon a few others, of which one prominently hooked and lost a nice fish.

We agreed to retreat to where we started the day and give the slow section another look. The sun broke through and a wave of warmth draped over the area. This would be the ringing of the dinner bell. For as long as the sun stayed out, the fish turned on, and tuned into the artificials leaving the organics aside.

It was comical to hear Rich ever so gingerly whisper to the hook not to break or bend as he was unhooking the fish. It was his only black fly left. I, of course, had enough for the both of us but the offer was declined. Gee, that sounded awfully familiar.

Bright, energetic and fast to snap at the fly. A final fish from Rich ……

Absence

So, is it worth it?

Not fishing as much these days ……….

Time has become almost as precious as our incomes. This past fall, our son (Brandon) decided that the” Red Circle Timbits ” hockey program was not enough of a challenge for him. He’s only 9 (going on 10 this summer) and it is great to see such drive and determination in his character. I was informed by others, that entering into competitive hockey would be a four day per week commitment. That sent shivers through us as he is already enrolled in a competitive soccer club that demands three days a week. We decided to make the jump for his “development” though let’s face it; he has a hope in hell of making something out of hockey. Soccer, being less discriminative of size and power, could lead to many possibilities down the road.

Less is more ……….

After learning the tryout process, fees and required time commitments, the family decision was to drop to “competitive house league”. Better. Two days a week and a few tournaments thrown in, was much more manageable.  It still meant that between our daughters’ competitive soccer and school sports schedules, we would be six days a week, having to be somewhere with one (sometimes both) of them. Well, we did not expect this to be so competitive, at the house league level. Parents, grandparents, family friends all cheering one team and bashing the other.  Not to the players directly, more to each other but I paid close attention to this. I have a habit of watching games in the opposing team’s end.

Needless to say, for a bunch of nine year olds, the team showed incredible focus and composure.  There were a few close games and two come-from-behind victories. They recently finished the regular season undefeated at 16-0 with the best defensive record in their division. (Note that Brandon plays D).

To answer the original query ……….

YES. The absence away from angling was all worth it. They are in playoff rounds now. It’s not as long as the regular season, I hope.

Ice Ice Baby

Okay I will admit it…… I enjoy ice fishing.  Enough to sink a decent amount of investment for several rods and reels. Some for perch, two for crappie and panfish, and a few lake trout and whitefish rods that also double for pike.  Add a pop up hut and an ice flasher that I can’t seem to ice fish without these days and I am ready to sit for hours on the ice staring at a blinking screen and a hole in the ice.

I think it’s that whole walking on water thing that seems to intrigue. The fact that I am walking over depths that I would normally have to get in a boat to get to, I now just have a floater suit and a pair of cleats on my winter boots that carries me to depths of up to 120’. Last year was the first time my friend drove us out to some perch grounds in his Chevy Avalanche. Believe me; I was sitting sideways towards the door with the fingers on the handle anticipating the moment I would be launching myself out. Crazy stuff.

The other day I met up with Rich with whom I had not seen since October. This time it was a bit different. Instead of 13’ rods and gortex waders, it was orange nylon prison wear and 24” rods. Lake Simcoe is a long ride to ice fish for the day. I was excited that Rich was able to make the time. I have always done well up there but I believe fishing is part luck and chance aside from skill and experience. With Rich and how well he knows this game, I was overly confident knowing I would experience some cold wet hands. The walk out seemed like a marathon. If the 3/4km walk just to get from the truck to the bay was not enough, add another 1.5 -2km before Rich dropped the ropes on the sled. We quickly punch two holes only to see a few fish on the flashers. After hooking them, we knew we had to move. 

Another friend of ours was about a 1/4km south of us and informed us that they were having better success. We made our way over. Its amazing that when you show up and have to park so far away, with the amount of cars and people fishing, we had no one around us for close to half a football field.

We punched one hole each and sat over it for the next three and a half hours. It was non-stop and at times, the flashers were so lit up, we could not see our own presentations jigging down below. Many small fish but we both managed enough to bring home a decent haul of perch. Rich continues to outshine with the fish of the day. A perch that would be close to 15” ( perhaps even longer) without the use of live bait.

Ice fishing is more fun than anything else for me. Good times with great friends.  It’s also the only time I consider keeping my catch. After all, who doesn’t like a fish fry?

Not today. Maybe tomorrow..........

Well, at least the young lads came away with something shiny to hold up yesterday, even if it was bronze ( Well done Team Canada!).  Unless you count the beer caps I tucked into my wading jacket pocket, today was a day to enjoy all that part of winter steelheading without having to get my hands all fishy smelling.

We took a chance. We were lazy to drive any farther than we had to. I think we are growing old and getting soft. The last time we hit this particular stretch, we came home humbled. If I had to place this on my list of ten, it would be dead last. The weather conditions were very much in our favor. It wasn’t winter at all. The flow data was the part we gambled on. I think we were a day early, perhaps even two. However, it was all we could afford and the day did not fall on a weekend so there was good assurance we would not see another.

It was not forgiving. It will need a big spring blow out to clear the timber that seemed to be sprinkled like extra toppings at the ice cream store. I think we left over 20 hooks in the fall down but somehow managed not to lose one float. We gave them everything. Organics, feathers and fur, the rubber molded stuff and even “skittles” of the hottest new bait on the water these days. Enough was enough.  I sat on a big old log and enjoyed a beer with a good buddy. All we could do is laugh at each other and attempted to award the other, the Grandmaster of Retye.

A fishless day heightens the senses and respect for what we have before us. The freedom to go walk and fish a river in solitude is priceless. Sharing time with great company cushions the disappointment of coming home with dry gloves. Nothing is ever a loss when we go out. We now know of a cool little local establishment that has great baked goods and the most incredible dried cured Hungarian sausages I have tasted in a long while.

The Intro ..........

This has been many years in the making.  Procrastination and plain laziness has been the root of not creating a personal blog. I do not consider myself much of a writer. The thought of not being able to keep up with others has always been an insecurity growing up. Now in my 46^th year, I am still growing up in many respects. I hope those that come across this will enjoy and take away something positive from it. Here goes……….

10 years old and nothing to do for two months.  I found the river and the Thames Valley Trail that would be my summer playground. My friend and I would spend every day running around that path. Every few steps we would look for the trail-marking white rectangle that was painted on a tree trunk. We would venture a few trees more each day and after two years, we would be miles from home. Add to this adolescent freedom, a fishing rod and there you have it, instant daycare. Netting minnows. Trapping crayfish. Snatching dew worms late at night with a flashlight and an empty coffee can taped to my leg. Catching bass, pike and carp every day was heavenly. I remember it felt like the world was coming to an end when we could not fish because the rivers blew out and turned dirty.

Fast forward a few years and wouldn’t you know it, I still get bummed out when I can’t make it to the river when I want to. That big pout face and carrying on all sucky-like would make the girls in the office laugh, just like my mother used to.  The daycare has now turned into a major league stress reliever with non-medicinal results of biblical portions. Time and time again, I look for it to pull the tension (that builds up from the daily grind) out from within.  Every time I arrive,   it takes me to a heightened level of zenquility.

This sport / pastime is growing at a very fast pace. Nothing to look down upon as I was part of this evolution. Growth however, has also placed strain on the resource I worship. Even at non-peak times of the season, there are more vehicles at various access points than I recall just five years previous. It is to be expected but also avoidable. I would drive an extra hour or hike a mile further to fish in seclusion. I am thankful that there are still a few places that can afford me such a luxury.

Fall 2011 has all but come and gone. It was a tremendous season angling wise as I had some incredible days on the tributaries I grew up steelheading. I could not help but toss that old “ it’s not about the numbers” philosophy out the window. At times, the action was too good to be true and I wanted one after another, hoping it would not end.

Things are now settling into winter. The home rivers are closed for the season. This is usually the time the long rods are set aside and the ice fishing gear comes out, however, there is no safe hardwater in sight. At least not within acceptable driving distance. It may be a long few months. Here we come 2012!