Just A Quick Post To Show You We Actually Do Get Out Fishing

My six year old son and I actually did manage to get out and do a little fishing the other day!

The older boy is harder to motivate to get out of the house and away from the video games these days. Sad but true. Of course I still love him though.

This was the first place we went. It is one of the closest fishing holes to home. We didn't get any bites. I think the water is too cold yet. I need a thermometer! We have a lot of snowmelt from the mountains.

The next place we went requires a walk of about 3/4 mile to get to the pond. We both needed the exercise! We stopped on this little boardwalk to take a picture. Thought it was kind of a neat shot even if it is a selfie...

Here is one view from the pond we were fishing. It was a beautiful March afternoon.

And here is a view from where we were fishing. Note the portable outhouse. Very important and scenic.

People were catching some nice sized trout that had been stocked. It was a little slow for us but I did manage to catch my first fish of the year, a 10 inch rainbow trout (sorry, failed to take a photo, major fail indeed). My son was very excited!

I caught the fish on my fly rod just off the bank with a Grizzly Hackled Wooly Worm, a very underrated classic fly pattern in my opinion.

Source

The fly closely resembled the one above.

A kid that was fishing next to us gave us his fish to take home too. So we had two pink-meated trout to take home and clean and throw in the prying pan! They were delicious!

The two fish were so big they had to be cut in half to fit inside a ziplock sandwich bag, haha.

We kept fishing until dark. I had a couple more strikes but, alas, no more fish.

My son's attitude during the whole trip was wonderful. It was one of the most enjoyable trips I have had with him from that standpoint.

You never know when your last fishing trip is going to be so try to enjoy it while you are out there regardless of how many fish you catch!

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Philosophy In Fishing

I’d like to start this post with a quote by Henry David Thoreau that goes, “Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.”

Looking hard at the philosophical and psychological aspects of fishing, it’s hard not to question this statement and apply it to one’s own interpretation of outdoor recreation.

Though fishing is the explicitly mentioned topic of this quote, I would be hard-pressed to not take it as a metaphor for all forms of getting into the great outdoors.

A few months ago, a friend of mine and some family went on a short camping trip during a school vacation just to get out of the house and into the great outdoors.

Jackson Reservoir in Colorado is a prairie reservoir located in about as flat land as they come which implies that the howling wind racing over the land is going to be enough to drive anyone absolutely insane.

The week of this camping trip was no different and although our campsite was well sheltered, the shore site we were able to fish was on the windward side of the shore and so the wind buffeted us fisherman in a ceaseless gale blowing water and mucky weeds into our faces as we tried to cast.

Hoping for a reprieve during the first night, I suggested we return to camp and wait for dusk to fall to try an evening and a night bite during a time when hopefully the wind dies down.

It didn’t. The wind continued well into the evening and as we stood on the shore hours later with our gear in hand it began to look like a hopeless case for our meager fishing team. Just as we were leaving the situation with our tails between our legs, my friend spotted a small cove of rocks that were just large enough to block the wind should we choose to hunker down.

Now, I forgot to mention, the land we were on was a long rock pier that jutted way out into the center of the lake with short sloping sides of large boulders on either side.

One side was facing the opposite direction of the wind and so as the wind hit the pier, this section remained wind-free.

The question became how to stay warm if we decided to stay. Although wind free, the surface of the rocks was freezing cold and the temperature was dropping fast as the sun continued to set.

Then, to my great surprise, my friend adamantly stated we would fish no matter what. He suggested we tuck into the rocky area while encased within our sleeping bags and fish in a reclined position to hide from the wind.

Having no other option, we walked back to the camp, grabbed the bags, and huddled in interspersed down the bank.

When the night fell and the only light was from a dim, rickety old lamp that rattled and clanged behind us, the evening got mysterious and foreboding. It was near pitch black in our area with the exception of brief flashes of light from phone cameras and the lamp light reflecting off of rod tips.

In that darkness, the only thing a person could do was think.

The wind prevented us from any conversation and our phones lacked service to be of any use.

It was mesmerizing for a while to raise your hand a foot or two above your head and feel the wind suddenly sweep it away. Then bring it back down into the pure calm of the cove and into the warm sleeping bag.

These little pockets of serene calm amid the hectic, tumultuous rigors of life and nature are the things that I find to be far greater than anything I could catch while out fishing.

Whether it be a simple escape from the daily lives we lead or a cave amid a rainstorm while out hiking, the outdoors offers a simple way to slow down and live life deeply.

I don’t doubt that Thoreau felt that the outdoors was as if returning to a way of life in which he received much more than he could have ever asked for.

In my life, that’s my interpretation of outdoor recreation.

Let us finish where we ended with another quote this time by John Muir:

"Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life."

So go outside.

And catch the feeling you don’t even know you are looking for.

by Timothy
theoutlifeblog.com

Crappie at Waverly Lake

This afternoon when I got home from work, Brayden was suffering from a case of cabin fever and wanted to get out of the house. He begged and pleaded that I take him to the park. 

I debated back and forth in my mind whether or not to ask him if he wanted to go fishing. I knew that once I committed, I would have to follow through. 

I'm glad that I did. We headed down to the local sporting goods store and purchased a couple of fishing licenses and headed over to the park with about an hour of fishing light left in the day. 

I was just as excited as the boys and offered that we stop at the first available fishing spot along the bank of the local pond.

After a few casts with a bead head woolly bugger, I had a good tug on the line and set the hook. Everyone was excited as I pulled in the fish. 

It felt like a good sized fish, relatively speaking. I saw that it was a nice crappie and let them know. I told Brayden to get the net and delayed the retrieval of the fish. 

With Bruce's help, Brayden successfully netted the fish. Our first fish of 2017!

Tight Lines & Happy Fishing!

Brigham Brewer

New Book by John Gierach Coming Soon!

John Gierach is one of my favorite authors of all time! I wrote a review on him here. A new book of his will be released soon by Simon & Schuster. Here's the lowdown:

John Gierach, “the voice of the common angler” (The Wall Street Journal) and member of the Fly Fishing Hall of Fame, brings his sharp sense of humor and keen eye for observation to the fishing life and, for that matter, life in general.

John Gierach is known for his witty, trenchant observations about fly-fishing. In A Fly Rod of Your Own (Simon & Schuster; April 4, 2017; $25.00), Gierach once again takes us into his world and scrutinizes the art of fly-fishing. He travels to remote fishing locations where the airport is not much bigger than a garage and a flight might be held up because a passenger is running late. He sings the praises of the skilled pilots who fly to remote fishing lodges in tricky locations and bad weather. He explains why even the most veteran fisherman seems to muff his cast whenever he’s being filmed or photographed. He describes the all-but-impassable roads that fishermen always seem to encounter at the best fishing spots and why fishermen discuss four-wheel drive vehicles almost as passionately and frequently as they discuss fly rods and flies. And while he’s on that subject, he explains why even the most conscientious fisherman always seems to accumulate more rods and flies than he could ever need.

As Gierach says, “fly-fishing is a continuous process that you learn to love for its own sake. Those who fish already get it, and those who don’t couldn’t care less, so don’t waste your breath on someone who doesn’t fish.” From Alaska to the Rockies and across the continent to Maine and the Canadian Maritimes, A Fly Rod of Your Own is an ode to those who fish—and they will get it.

Conservation of Our Outdoor Resources

by Timothy

We must keep the lands public, the water clean and the forests thick with life.

Many of the most well-known outdoorsmen of days passed were also strong conservationists and naturalists. Theodore Roosevelt comes to mind as a person who championed many national parks and also supported conservationist ideas up until the day he died.

As president of the United States, he kept his outdoorsman roots and continued to hunt and fish throughout his presidency. Teddy was an outdoorsman who explicitly understood that the state of our environment directly translates into the state of our sport within it.

If the streams are pure and pristine, then the fish within will be strong and healthy and bountiful for all fisherman to enjoy and partake in. If the stream is soaked in oil and chemical run-off, then the fish’s existence will mirror that unhealthy environment.

As outdoorsmen and outdoorswomen we all have a responsibility to be champions for the land and waters we explore. We must keep the lands public, the water clean and the forests thick with life.

One act of conservation that anglers and hunters can partake in is that of switching from using lead weights and shot to steel or tungsten.

Lead is harmful to the ecosystem. The toxic metal can be lethal for game birds like geese and ducks which swallow rocks in order to digest their flora based diets. Sometimes along with the rocks they may inadvertently swallow some lead.

Some statistics indicate that the number of organisms that die from lead poisoning each year ranges from 10 to 20 million with most deaths stemming from migratory bird species.

Along the same lines, many other organisms may ingest lead when scavenging the carcasses of already deceased animals. These numbers are harder to determine because they seldom die near the point of ingestion.

Whether or not we live in a state where lead is banned from use in outdoor pursuits we can all consider making the switch and do our part to protect the health of our public lands and waters.

These little acts, however insignificant they may seem, can add up when more and more people take up the effort.

If we do our part, our public land and water can remain public and healthy for all of us to enjoy for generations to come.

The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and not necessarily those of My Hunting & Fishing.

The Studious Outdoorsman

by Timothy

Most if not all outdoorsmen employ self-teaching at one point or another for the simple reason that there are not readily available classes that coincide with the space in busy schedules. For most people, the outdoors is a wholesome hobby and not a job title. At least that statement is true enough for me especially given that I am a young man. With a lot to know, more to learn, and a filled schedule holding you back from your next adventure, what options are there for pursuing outdoor arts?

Well.

The man left from around his parked car and sauntered along, parallel to the meandering river that his eyes traced patiently. They paused upon the water’s gentle countenance, the air damp and wet in the cold, the ducks that hobbled slowly along the dune-shaped shoreline, the water that pulled from his soul the fear and worry he had felt moments ago.

Though fishing this water was entirely new to him, he had studied its curves and pools for days, scouting out the features that slowed the ceaseless current in the hopes of discovering what lay finning lazily within it.

His walking had revealed to him the small set of falls his eyes set upon as a prime spot for a large trout to drift. The water down from him was on the outskirts of the main water column and swirled lazily.

‘The eddy,’ he thought to himself.

The fisherman left his gear bag and crouched forward to sneak next to the river. Choice lures prepped on a cotton patch attached to his vest and his rod well-oiled and re-spooled with fresh line, the fisherman had the utmost confidence in his gear.

Tying on a lure using a loop knot for maximum movement in the water column, he cast up from his slight downstream position to get the longest drift possible.

After a few tries he’d switch retrieve style or lure until he was down to his last one; a silver 1/8th ounce kastmaster.

‘One more,’ he thought sadly, ‘There has to be a fish in these waters.’

The line arced out over the foamy mess below and splashed neatly into the center of the eddy.
Almost immediately, there was a jarring yanking of the rod and a moment after, the fisherman held up proudly the fruits of his labor. A perfect eating-sized rainbow trout with the still shining spoon in the corner of its mouth.

Now, how is it we can learn something from this story? Let me impart upon you a word of advice a close friend recently gave to me. He told me that, “We do what we have to do now to do what we want to do later.”

The main character in this story spent his downtime cleaning rods, choosing lures, prepping gear, and went so far as to scout out the water he hoped to fish using google maps. The fisherman studied. He studied knots and lures and water and river and he got an A for it.

It is important that an outdoorsman remain sharp and knowledgeable about his or her craft whether in or out of the field. Honing one’s skills on a computer or a floor at home, will pay off later when the knowledge must be used.

That is the importance of a studious outdoorsman. And frankly, it’s studying that I don’t mind doing.

True Food

by Timothy,

The morning sun filters in through my closed tent flap and gently wakes me. My eyes open to the glow and immediately I feel the chill in the air. Although hot elsewhere, the mountains still retain a measure of the cold easily felt in the first rays of the morning sun. Before the sunlight lifts the cool veil, I shrug off the confines of the sleeping bag and step out into the day.

My first, long exhale plumes into a white cloud before me and withers away as I step through it to stoke the morning fire. Brought to life by a shower of sparks, the flame licks at the damp wood and curls back the bark. Allowing myself small moments to tune in to the subtleties around me is one of my favorite aspects of camping. The little things tend to be the easiest to remember.

The fire’s crackle is a soundtrack as I proceed to assemble my gear for the morning activities. Rods, reels, baits, and bags are corralled into a pile and wait patiently until I smother the fire. Its smoke swirls up through the pine trees and wafts through the air mingling with other woodsy scents. The important bags are donned, rods gripped in one hand, and the camera hangs from my neck eager to immortalize these moments in voiceless pictures.

My walk begins. The hunt for breakfast is afoot.

Taking my time to the lake, my eyes dart constantly between forest and floor, the former glance in search of a break in the trees, and the latter making note of my sure-footing. The gear around me rattles and claps with each step. Small hops dropping the heavy backpack down upon my shoulders as the campfire scent lingers further and further behind me.

The crunch of gravel greets me upon my arrival at the pristine lake, nestled in a mountain basin.

Although the sun has not yet crested the mountain tops, I can just barely see the dark silhouettes of cruising trout. Nearer the water, the plucking of rising fish is a strum on my instincts and my hands begin to work, tie, and cast a rod into the depths. The water is clear enough for me to watch the worm, sourced from beneath damp rocks, sink ever so slowly, its ends twirling tantalizingly in the new aquatic realm.

I settle in and wait.

The subtle thrum of my heart slows and the breaths I take are deep and full.

Sunlight pierces the water and the click of my shutter is the single disturbance to the picturesque morning.

The fervent bouncing of a rod tip commands my attention and as the sun raises higher, the silver, frantic flash of my prey shines in the water. The pumping reminds me of my heartbeat that was felt just moments before.

I land the creature and end its life with sharp taps from a stick, breaking the spine to show it a quick and merciful death. My breath plumes again as a sigh of respect escapes my lips.

The gear is stowed away and I begin the trek back through the woods. I follow the deepening scent of wood smoke and begin the transformation from hunter to cook. My mind stays focused yet the task and manner is different. Where once my goal was primal, an urge to kill, the urge is now to feast, to cook, to transform my energy spent into energy consumed. The sun stretches our shadows as hunter carries prey.

Upon my arrival the fire is stoked to a raging inferno and a mountain of embers are born. The fish is set nearby and begins the transformation between raw and cooked.

At first, the stench of the fish is akin to algae and mud, something not wholly appetizing. Its slime dries and adheres to the skin while the eyes grow cloudy. As time continues however, the scent becomes meaty and pleasing. The mouth waters as the skin crackles open revealing succulent, steaming flesh.

Breakfast, no longer trout, is removed from the coals and set on a plate.

Bones are fed to the fire, skin is fed to the dog, and meat is consumed, proudly, by me. The meat was taken respectfully in the most intimate of pursuits. Not a bit is wasted and as the day truly starts, every spark of the energy will be put to good use.

Starting my day like this means I have a greater respect for myself and the food I eat.

Most people never form the understanding of where and how their food actually comes from. They have no relationship with real food. Because of this it’s fair to say that hunters and fisherman have more than hobbies; they have a way of life.

Simrad GO5 XSE - Advanced Kayak Fishfinder

The Simrad GO5 XSE is an advanced sonar system for small watercraft which incorporates navigation, fish finding and obstacle avoidance in a single unit. It is in effect a device which gives any boat an understanding of the underwater environment previously reserved for large naval vessels with complex sonar arrays. With the Simrad GO5 XSE, any bass boat or kayak can have a complete map of what is in the water below, including the presence or absence of marine life. This makes the Simrad GO5 XSE a must-have for those traveling in unfamiliar waters, or waters with a high degree of underwater sediment movement.

The Simrad GO5 XSE is built around an advanced combination of sensors which combines the GPS and sonar readings to confirm not only a vessel's location but the likely and actual conditions under the water. This enables captains to pilot their vessels in shallow or untested waters easily, with the five-inch screen giving them a clear display of where they are and if there are any hazards they should be aware of. Proposed routes can be planned, and the computer can even calculate the best, fastest and safest routes between two points. The display is fully customizable, and the layout can be changed or adjusted to ignore irrelevant data or provide the user with additional displays. This ensures that its use can be changed or customized over time, for example enabling it to serve as a navigation aid on the way to a likely fishing spot, then used to determine the presence or absence of fish upon arrival.

The Simrad GO5 XSE is capable of updating using any standard Wi-Fi connection, and can thus be pre-loaded with the latest map and navigational information before heading out. Additionally, if wireless internet can be obtained via the cellular network or satellite communications, the Simrad GO5 XSE can be continuously updated while the voyage is underway. Proposed routes can be plotted out, with the system assisting any vessel pilot in navigation by suggesting headings and changes in heading in light of conditions, as well as warning of underwater hazards. This not only ensures faster transits to and from established points, but it also helps ensure that the transit is safer, with known hazards being avoided, and approaching hazards being warned of.

The system does all this by using a variety of sonar systems, all transmitted through transducers attached to the underside of the boat. The first is the ForwardScan forward facing sonar, which scans the area in front of the vessel, looking for approaching hazards. This combines with a downward-facing SideScan and DownScan Imaging to look for potential hazards to the sides and beneath the vessel, and also inform the user as to the nature of the underwater structures. Finally, the Broadband Sounder CHIRP sonar can detect the presence of free-floating or otherwise non-structural objects beneath the vessel, most notably schools of fish, or individual fish of significant size.

Additionally, the Simrad GO5 XSE is NMEA 2000 compatible, which means that it will be able to serve as an interface for compatible onboard sound systems as well as display pertinent engine information. Most importantly, engine information can be fed in while underway, enabling the operator to be instantly alerted in the event of oil pressure, fuel or other problems. This can enable the Simrad GO5 XSE to basically serve as a ship's computer, controlling and providing information about much of a vessel's electronics, without the need for the purchase of additional machines.

However, the GO5 XSE does have some limitations. The primary downside of the Simrad GO5 XSE is that, in order to achieve its full functionality, it is necessary to buy multiple compatible transducers. While some multi-function transducers are available, in general, they can only function as one type of sonar at a time, limiting the functionality of the device. Additionally, at only five inches, the screen may prove to be rather small for some, especially when mounted in larger vessels. This is compounded by the rather low resolution 800x480 pixel screen, which seems outdated in an era when even entry-level smartphones have 720P displays.

Still, the Simrad GO5 XSE, when paired with the proper transducers and securely mounted, is capable of providing an incredible amount of useful information to any boat operator. From current underwater conditions to the presence or absence of fish, it is a digital eye for pilots who want to get where they are going quickly and safely. Its small size, while inconvenient on large vessels with plenty of room, does mean that it can be mounted on very small craft. As such, it's an ideal accessory for small boats and kayaks.

Sponsored Post

Legend of Lost Rod

by Timothy,

There’s a fishing story in my family that is the tale to tell when reminiscing of old lakes and past rods.

During the months after ice out, Lake Trout will swim up out of the depths they normally hide in and hunt the shallow water in search of young rainbow trout. It’s during this time that shore fisherman can test their tackle against some of the hardest fighting fish that freshwater has to offer. Being so carnivorous, the standard bait for lake trout is chunks of cut Sucker meat lashed upon a treble hook. The meat is large and heavy enough to be casted far distances without the use of any extra weight.

Fishing in this way means constant attention to the rods because these fish pick up the meat and tear off towards the darker water. It’s easy to imagine the small whales perusing down the shoreline just out of sight of our eyes. Once in a while, one of them will cruise down right in front of us and elicit shouts of excitement. These shouts grow louder when the fish fly through the water like gray torpedoes after schools of baby trout. Their huge toothy mouths open wide and completely engulf their prey. It’s amazing to see the few moments it takes for one more fish to be taken out of the pool.

It was on a hunt for these fish where the legend began. I was young. Young enough to tangle my line into knots even Houdini couldn’t escape. Inevitably, my father would walk over and proceed to untangle whatever mess I had made with exclamations of “How did you manage to do this?” coming from his lips.

During the entire trip everything had gone smoothly. We each had a few fish to our name and the weather was offering the perfect conditions to peer through the water. My family had decided to join my father and I that day but they wandered off through the woods surrounding the lake and left the fishing to the two of us.

Normally, my approach to fishing is to have one bait rod sit on shore and then I take a lure rod and walk the shoreline nearby. When fishing high mountain lakes, my lure rod is inevitably my fly rod and so on this trip I casted an Elk Hair Caddis to rising trout while I kept a careful eye on my rock weighted rod. When a fish struck, I’d fly back over and set the hook.

As the day went on we had only managed decent sizes of fish mostly within the 16 inch range. None yet had surfaced that would pull line out in screaming runs.

A period of time passed where the sun was beating so strong that it pushed the shallow fish deeper into the water. We chased them down with further casts but the catching of them had considerably become less frequent. I contemplated checking my bait for the fourth time and as I reeled in, the line suddenly stopped. I tangled it.

I called to my father who had been in the midst of reeling in his own bait and he set his rod down over a bundle of coiled line sitting on shore.

He teetered among the rocks toward me and took the rod from my hands to untangle the mess I had made.

Suddenly, there was a frantic clattering of rocks behind him and he jumped in surprise enough to drop my rod and sprint to his. The coiled line was whipping out into the water at lightning speed and the rod went with it moments before my father reached it. He took several frantic steps into the water before running back out and letting out a groan.

I ran up the sloping hill and perched on a rock so I could look out further into the lake.
There, in the deeper water, was the slender shape of a white rod being pulled steadily through the water and within moments it was swallowed into the depths.

We never did see that rod again.

For Our Future

by Timothy,

I love the fisherman’s high. At a very young age I was lucky enough to have a father who took me fishing and a mother who supported my outdoor endeavors. Some of my fondest memories are set within casting distance of a body of water. As a result, I have grown with an appreciation of the outdoors and nurtured qualities such as those that a fisherman would have. I grew patience waiting for a bite, respect when handling a fish, and, most important of all, a desire to show others why I love what I do.

This is not just a fishing story or how-to or wistful musings from times of old. This is a plea from a member of the next generation to show all of us, fisherman or not, your secrets, values, and passion.

I am a young man born and raised in Colorado who knows all too well other addictive mediums that kids in my age group use. They look for some sort of escape or fulfillment in their lives that they have trouble finding. Some end up glued to television screens and game controllers living viscerally through their online persona. They fall out of touch with their real lives and lose knowledge of what lives they could lead. Some end up plastering their faces on social media to find personal satisfaction in stranger’s comments and “likes”. Others still will resort to violence and misbehavior for the excitement and attention gleaned from overt acts. All end up detached from the outdoors as a personal outlet.

One of my close friends, prior to taking him fishing, told me, “My parents say that we’re a hotel family.” He was not young, not poor, not disabled. His family came down a long line of “hotel people” and he was set on a path that life, modern life, has handed to him. All his life lead to believe that going fishing is boring and when you go you never catch anything anyway so why bother. His few trips, to no one’s fault, were done in ignorance. Wrong bait, wrong tackle, wrong place, wrong time, throwing rocks, swimming dogs the list is endless.

Well on our trip, he went with a fisherman. Now he ties the rigs and baits the hooks that catch the fish he’s looking for. One trip. The birth of a fisherman. Now he has actually experienced the fulfilling sport of fishing and asks me to take him more. Now the problem is that although I have showed him our sport I cannot always be there to support his growth. His parents do not take him and his family does not fish so that it falls to me to give him the opportunities to make more memories. On another note, he has told more friends about his experience and they want to go as well. I do not have the time nor the money to stage a one man movement to teach the world to fish.

As much as I would like to live my life abiding by the rules of the old proverb (see below) I cannot do this alone. I know that I was born fortunate, into an outdoor oriented family, and had many positive experiences and opportunities to form them. Others are not and will never be given this chance.

Some fish for different reasons, by different means, holding different values, but residing in the core of all of us lies the hook for a hobby that can last a lifetime.

Believe me when I say that among my age group, rare it truly is to see a fisherman. Not one who “has been fishing before” but one who fishes for life. I see it in the midst of fishing trips. All those I see are mostly grown-men, many who are aging and grew up in a time when the outdoors was synonymous with everyday life.

In today’s culture we see a trend where living inside is safer or more normal than spending time outside. This being the case, I see that fishing is a very powerful catalyst for getting someone outside and them growing a fondness for being there.

To me, fishing is much more than catching fish or competing for size or eating everything on the end of the line. If that’s why you fish, more power to you. However, I fish for memories.

Years from now I will not remember the time I spent watching T.V. or playing call of duty. There was a time I heavily did. I will remember the evening with my father when we had an elk herd run in front of the car, illuminated by just our headlights and the slowly rising sun. I will remember the smile on my friend’s face fighting a huge fish all on his own and holding it up for his victorious picture. I will remember, and appreciate, my mother driving me to and from lakes and ponds many times at the drop a hat and always asking me, “Did you have fun?” This is because I do have fun, and I want to show others the same.

The success and growth of these values relies on the “breeding” of more fishermen. If they are not born, fishing will not live. It is in my humblest opinion that we are endangered, and it is solely up to us to save our bloodlines.

Take someone fishing. Sacrifice some of your time and grow the roots for the future of our sport.

“Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.”

In both body and soul.

Lessons From a Hookless Fly

by Timothy

Usually, at least for me, holding the fish is the point where the high from fighting it begins to wane. The heart thumping excitement from hook-set and tight lines is what really gets the adrenaline going.

Now, I wouldn’t portray myself as a meat hunter, but I’m not a puritan either in that I use barbed hooks and seldom pinch it down. There are times however, that the situation would appropriate a barbless hook.

On a past trip to the mountains I stood on the edge of a flirting, diamond-clear lake. I bent to slowly run my fingers through the water and watched the ripples spread throughout, shaking leaves that had sailed on unseen currents until my disruptive arrival.

My careful eye focused through the water and looked for the telltale signs of life. A shadow here, a flash there.

The mocking breeze muffled the clarity of the water's surface and I stood up, confident in the information I had gathered.

Like a sprinter taking in his last breath, I stilled mine and focused on the ghosting fog over the water’s surface. I inhaled the light air that swirled around me and took a moment to enjoy the scenery, drinking in the cool morning persona of the mountains.

Drawing upon this energy, I focused my attention on a submerged tree stump 30 feet out from my place on land. Out of respect for the land I was about to fish, I opted to pinch down the barb on my fly, a Copper John, and did so prior to tying it on.

The first few casts resulted in nothing; no telltale twitch in the line. I didn’t worry however, it only takes a single trout to come cruising by and let its curiosity test my fly.

I fell into the rhythm of fan casting. Starting off to the left of the stump and working my way right, I fished the fly slowly in steady pulls interspersed with quick frantic jerks and long pauses to let the fly sink into the blue depths.

While this patient vigil kept on, it was hard not to notice the environment- the great birds soaring overhead on unseen currents not unlike those that are formed in the water. The frantic splash of trout chasing after caddisflies. Great mountains mirrored on the lake's surface.

The wonder was cut short by the tick-tick-tick gunfire on my rod hand and I set the hook in a sweeping motion so as not to snap my thin tippet. Or rather, I tried to set the hook.

For a few brief moments I felt the weight of the fish and saw the bend of my rod. There was enough time to get my heart pumping before the hook came free and snapped up out of the water.

To be frank, I was sincerely perplexed.

Not often does it happen that my opponent gets the better of me. Especially with the relatively small size of fish that swam this lake.

Bad hook-set.

I silently berated my beginner folly.

Casting out a few more times, I managed a second chance.

I failed.

Every step of the process was perfectly aligned for me to land this fish and yet the same thing occurred. Twice in a row!?

I knew that it wasn’t a product of snapping the fly off on my hook-set because my fly was still on the rod after each failure.

I decided to pass it off on my strike being too early and tried once more to catch a fish.

By this time my heart was positively hammering! The fish were there and indeed biting, so I was excited by the prospect of catching a large amount of these beautiful Brook Trout.

Third time's the charm. I hope.

A few casts later, indeed I hooked up again. The rod bent, the silver flank flashed, the heart skipped, my breath caught, time slowed down, and…

The hook flew out into the clouds.

Needless to say I was reduced to a crying mess. Three fish in a row I missed. No way is it me. Too many missed chances.

My fly, the Copper John - The curved nature of the hook defines its purpose, to get caught in the prey’s mouth thereby trapping it on line to rod. 

I reeled in all the coiled and slacked line on shore and inspected the fly. It appeared that I had snapped the very tip of the hook off, right after the bend. So, there was just enough bend left to lodge for a few moments into the fish’s mouth- the few moments that made me think my hook-set was at fault.

I learned a valuable lesson that fateful day on the bank of that lake; be gentle and respectful to the tools you use no matter how excited you are to use them.

Timothy is a regular contributor at My Hunting & Fishing. He is also an author at TheOutLife.

The Boys are Learning How to Fish

One of several rainbow trout in the 8 - 11 inch range caught at Foster Reservoir, near Sweet Home, Oregon on April 30, 2016. It was a beautiful day and the fishing was great! 

I was proud to see that the boys are starting to take on some of the fishing tasks on their own. Maybe some day in the future I will actually be able to relax when I take them fishing. Ha!

Tight Lines!

Steelhead Fishing on the Willamette River 2013

The morning didn't get off to a good start. We kept having issues with the gear. Our bad luck hit rock bottom when our steelhead net mysteriously disappeared from the boat. No kidding. It was the weirdest thing. I looked over and noticed it was propped up on the side of the boat, but it looked secure enough.

I figured it might get in my brother's way as he rowed the boat, so I would put it down in the bottom of the boat after making one more cast with my fly rod. After retrieving the line, I looked back and the net was gone. I was thinking my brother had moved it, but that was not the case. It was just gone. I felt pretty bad, even though it really wasn't my fault.

About the only thing that was going well for us was the weather. It was beautiful out that morning, which is good for humans, but not necessarily good for fishing. One should never complain about being out on the river on a beautiful morning. We even stopped to pick some berries on the side of the river at one point.

And part of our mission, unbeknownst to me, was to retrieve a lost anchor that had been haunting my brother in his dreams.

Retrieving the anchor was a life or death situation.

There I was, sitting in the boat wearing a Cabela's life jacket (very stylish). I was rowing my flabby arms off.

My older brother was hanging off the back of the drift boat in swift water up to his chest, trying to free the rogue anchor from the bottom of the river. He was not wearing a life jacket.

Okay, I am probably making this sound more dangerous than it actually was. But the irony of the situation hit me pretty quickly. I was concerned for my brother's welfare as he willingly put his life at risk to retrieve the anchor.

He said that if he didn't get it, he wouldn't be able to sleep for a year, as the waters would soon rise with the autumn rains. There it would wait, beckoning at him to come and free it from the rocky bottom.

It all turned out okay in the end. In fact it was the second anchor we had recovered from the river this summer. The first one was a cake walk compared to this one.

Things gradually began to improve as the day went. I was casting my fly rod with a purple Egg Sucking Leach pattern and letting it dead drift down to the bottom. My line stopped all of a sudden and I set the hook.

I was a bit surprised to see a flash under the water and feel a heavy fish on the end of the line. I thought it was a steelhead. After a few seconds I realized that I had a good sized Northern Pikeminnow. Here is the result.

As we were finishing our drift we arrived at a very popular hole where we have caught a lot of steelhead.

Sure enough, my brother's rod went down. Fish on!!! We rowed the boat to the sandy bank and my brothers beached the fish- a bright 29 3/4 inch steelhead! It was the second steelhead caught from the boat this year.

While they were busy landing the fish, I taped the whole thing for your viewing pleasure.

Enjoy!

Tight lines!

Fishing at Ollala Creek Reservoir

It took some time to figure out where to go- looking at the ODFW trout stocking schedule, but we made it up to the lake on March 22nd.

I finally decided on Ollala Creek Reservoir as it had been stocked that week and our normal favorite (Foster Reservoir) hadn't been stocked yet.

I had never been to this particular fishing hole before, so I was a little surprised at how beautiful it was there.

I went to get my fishing license before we left town and picked up some bait at the same time.

I was talking to the friendly guy behind the counter and told him I was going to get some PowerBait. And he suggested I get some Berkley Gulp in the Chunky Cheese Flavor.

I thought, It can't be be any better than the regular PowerBait. Then I looked at the price on the bottle and cringed when I saw $5.49... but the guy was so insistent that I decided to give it a try.

I'm glad I did because we were the only ones catching fish.

Recipe: Size 18 golden treble hook, small ball of chartreuse colored Chunky Cheese Berkley Gulp Trout Bait, and three medium sized split shot about 18 inches above hook.

You land fish on almost every bite with this set-up.

Zombie Deer & Fish T-Shirt Giveaway

It's been a while since we've had a giveaway here at My Hunting & Fishing, so I'm happy to announce that we are gearing up for one now!

We have some adult size T-shirts provided by Buckwear.com. The designs are perfect for hunting season and the Halloween season- they're a little spooky.

Take a gander!

First we have the Zombie Deer Hunting shirt:

Then we have the Dept. of Zombie Deer Control shirt:

And last, but not least, we have the Spawn of the Dead shirt:

Pretty cool, huh? I thought so. 

So, what do you have to do in order to win one of these shirts?

Step 1. Visit www.Buckwear.com and look at their other T-shirt designs.

Step 2. While you are at Buckwear.com Like Buck Wear on Facebook.

Step 3. Submit a paragraph, photo or video to My Hunting & Fishing's Share My Story Page describing how you would kill a zombie deer. Make it creative and interesting. Your approved submission will be posted to My Hunting & Fishing,'s home page.

The best idea wins your choice of the three shirts, which are available in adult sizes only (L, XL, 2XL). 

We will have a first, second and third place winner!

Good luck and happy zombie killing!

Brigham Brewer

Red River Channels, North Dakota

I was in the process of writing my fourth book last fall and the last research trip was to the Red River of The North in North Dakota. This river has a reputation for producing the biggest channel catfish in the country.

My co-author and fishing partner Mac Byrum landed his personal best channel at 20.5 pounds and I boated my personal best Channel at 21.8 pounds.

Got nearly 400 pounds of channels in two days. Released them all. My web site is www.jakestakeonfishing.com

Jake Bussolini

Fishing With Humpback Whales

Bryan Ringos contacted me and asked that I share this video with you all. I previewed it and thought it was fantastic. 
They were fishing for coho salmon in Thorne Bay, Alaska, and were doing very well, catching some nice salmon. Then they saw the whales, up close and personal!
Enjoy!
  Fishing With Humpback Whales from BRYAN RINGOS on Vimeo.

I've got to get to Alaska some day!

Kudos to Bryan for an excellent video. 

Cutthroat Trout on Dry Flies

Cutthroat trout often hold near underwater logs and limbs, but will settle for the average rocky bottom.

Hills Creek is a very small creek that flows over rounded river stones of varying shades of green, brown, red, and gray. It drops fairly rapidly down the canyon, but it's not whitewater by any means.

Small, wild cutthroat trout sometimes hide in places that seem impossible in the shallow water. This is what makes stream fishing so much fun. Well, that and seeing the fish torpedo your dry fly.

Not long ago, I had a day off work. It was a furlough day, which is a special kind of day where you don't work and you don't get paid.

Because of the nature of furlough days I tend to look at them with a different perspective. This is a day where I usually like to be productive.

Well, this day, in the middle of a hot spell in the month of August, I was determined to get out, and up into the higher elevations to enjoy God's creations, at a lower temperature.

At long last, I decided to make the ninety mile trip down the freeway and up into the hills to Hills Creek. I had been wanting to do so for several years.

Once the decision was made, it made me happier and happier as I drove down the freeway. I felt pretty confident that I was going to catch some cutthroat trout on some dry flies, like I had done many times before. Probably some of the best fishing to be had this time of year.

When I arrived at the creek, I took my time to get ready. It was hot. I had a few hours of fishing ahead of me and didn't want to get in any hurry- wanted to enjoy the experience.

I changed from pants to shorts and from dress shoes to tennis shoes. I planned to wade the creek to gain better access to the best casting positions, and for a drag-free presentation of my dry fly. Plus, this would help me keep cool.

The water was surprisingly cold. Snowmelt. I was definitely going to keep cool. It took a while for the initial chill to subside, or for my lower legs to get numb, however that works.

I was into my first fish within a few casts. A four inch long cutthroat trout. Beauty. I promptly unhooked the little guy and released him to grow bigger and stronger for another day.

A small but voracious cutthroat trout from Hills Creek. Note the plump belly.

I continued to fish downstream, tossing my dry fly onto the slick water of the deeper pools. As I worked downstream, I occasionally tripped over rocks and climbed over logs, but never quite fell all the way down, which was good. I wasn't quite ready to get my entire self wet.

I caught several more fish, and interestingly, the fish kept getting bigger and bigger the further I went downstream.

It was as if the river gods were beckoning me to keep fishing, even though I had an appointment for dinner with my friend.

Let's see- fishing... or food?

Fishing.

The first sign of addiction.

I noticed that the larger fish were most often found downstream of fallen logs that sported underwater limbs, creating shelter for the trout.

As I fished next to one particular log, I couldn't even see my fly for the glare on the water. No matter. The fish were plentiful, and they were voracious.

There was no need for a drag free float. There wasn't even need for a float. The fly was going subsurface. I was giving the fly an occasional tug upstream, then letting it drift back down a foot or two. This method produced several of the bigger fish.

I hooked into a heavier fish and thought for a moment it was a hatchery-grown rainbow trout that Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife stocks in the stream during the summer months. But when I brought it to my hand, I was pleased to see that it was a beautiful nine inch cutthroat trout. I didn't end up catching a single hatchery stocked rainbow trout that day.

I used two different types of flies. A Royal Wolf and a Parachute Royal Coachman. I did better on the PRC. This has been the fish producer for me on this little creek in the Oregon Cascades. I haven't experimented with many other patterns, but haven't seen a need either.

Just a little note to anyone who has always wanted to get into fly fishing. It's really not that difficult. There is nothing terribly scientific about what I was doing here. No long casts. No complicated drifts. Get out and give it a try. Get a fly wet.

At one point, I found a deeper pool of water. It was getting even hotter and I decided to take off my shirt and jump in. This was when I really found out how cold the water was! Dove in head first.

I wanted to stay in long enough to overcome the initial shock and let the full-body numbness take over, but I didn't make it. The best I could do was go under headfirst one more time. Then I got out.

Once I had cooled off a bit, I turned my attention back to fishing, buy I didn't catch many fish after that. As soon as I got out of the water, this horesefly (or legions of them, I'm not sure) started flying around me, biting me and making life miserable.

I kept kicking myself for failing to bring my Camper's Comfort Body Mist, which is a 100% Deet-Free insect repellent made by Nature Balance Wellness (NBW). I know it sounds kind of girly, but I hate Deet.

I am really excited about trying this product. I was recently sent a sample to test and write a review about. I have failed miserably at following through with my obligations. I guess that just means I have to go fishing again soon. Bummer.

Anyways. I kind of lost focus after getting myself all wet and then having the horsefly harassing me. Besides, I wasn't finding any more good fishing holes further downstream.

Finally, I shook the horsefly and when I heard a car drive by on the road above me, I determined it was a good time to scale the bank and hike back to my car.

I picked up a few beer cans on my way and threw them in the trunk of my car for recycling later.

Really enjoyed the day!

Thanks for reading,

Brigham Brewer

Tight Lines and Happy Hunting!

Fishing For Willamette River Steelhead

My alarm woke me up from a deep sleep on the last day of June. I looked at my clock in shock and confusion as I made out the 4:00 am on the screen. But within a second, a happy thought ran through my mind- 

"You don't have to get up this early to go to work today. You set the alarm for 4:00 am so you could get up, get ready, and be at your brother's house by 5:30 am, to go fishing for summer steelhead on the Willamette River! Good chance you are going to catch a fish or two!"

I sleepily got ready as quietly as I could, to avoid waking up the Mrs. Then I hit the road, still trying to shake the sleep from my mind. I was sure it would be a beautiful morning, and I was looking forward to my first steelhead fishing trip of the year.

When I arrived at my brother's house, I saw that he was ready to go, with the boat hitched up to the truck as he had promised. I put my things in the boat and jumped in the truck. Within a few minutes, we were at the boat ramp launching the Diamondback Drift Boat. 

We were on the river a few minutes later. I stood up in the front of the boat and cast a fly as my brother rowed up river to one of our favorite spots. 

There was no action on the fly, which prescribed a change of technique. We quickly changed rods. We had two rods rigged with black divers with yellow eyes and red Guide's Choice Coon Stripe Shrimp for the bait. 

We let the line out of the reels and positioned the divers and bait at about 30 - 40 feet behind the boat and put the rods in the rod holders. This gave us a moment to take in our surroundings. 

The river was beautiful in the low light of the morning, flanked by the tall green trees along each bank. It's dark emerald waters continuously flowed with invisible power, holding the hope of our hearts in it's mysterious and magical depths.

About 20 minutes into our drift, we had a take-down. I quickly lifted up the rod and felt for the fish on the end of the line, but there was nothing. It was a little disappointing. But it was early in the day and we had already seen some action. That was the glass half-full perspective. 

We re-baited that rod and continued fishing. It wasn't but 15-20 minutes later that we had another take-down. This time I could feel the heaviness of the fish at the end of the line, with it's powerful head-shakes and throbbing tail. I gave the rod a little tug to set the hook. A second or two later the fished thrashed at the top of the water!

This one came to the boat fairly quickly. My brother netted it for me and I patted him on the back, thanking him for helping me get my first steelhead of the year.

As my brother always does, he snipped the hook off the end of the line and set it up with a new hook and leader. Steelhead have very small, but very sharp teeth and they may have nicked the line. Better safe than sorry. This is the kind of mindfulness that is necessary to help raise the odds of netting your steelhead.

After re-tying and threading a new coon stripe shrimp onto the hook, we were back in the water, ready for another one. It was early in the day and we already had two take-downs with one fish in the boat. If we kept up that rate, we were going to do very well!

It wasn't but 20-30 minutes later, we had another take-down. I lifted up the rod and felt the fish immediately.  This one was a little heavier. I set the hook, and this fish insisted on swimming to the bottom of the river with all it's might. This fish was strong. 

I told my brother, who had the net waiting for me, that I was having a hard time getting him to the boat. He reminded me to take my time and enjoy the fight. 

Of course I had been enjoying the fight, but it was a good reminder. I had been so intent on getting him to the boat... Now I relaxed a little and tried to enjoy the moment for all it was worth. 

Eventually the fish came to the net. It was about 27 inches long and a bit fatter than the first one, which was just over 26 inches long. 

We continued to fish for about three and a half more hours. We had one more take-down that didn't produce a fish. 

It was a great day of fishing! We had been greatly blessed and left the river two happy fishermen.

Tight Lines!

Brigham Brewer

Local Fun at Foster Reservoir, Sweet Home, OR

As we traditionally do each spring, we have been up to Foster Reservoir a few times this year. We have had a bit of luck fishing for trout stocked by the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife (ODFW).

My son caught this nice rainbow trout yesterday, which I thought was definitely photo worthy! He thought he was hung up on the bottom of the lake, then he said, "No, it's a big fish!" I was proud of him, he handled it all by himself, as I was a short distance away fishing for smallmouth bass.

The first trip this year, I went to Foster by myself on a Friday evening because he was too tired from a field trip he went on with his classmates.

So, I drove over to Sweet Home, Oregon and went to my favorite spot, only to find that there was too much debris in the water. I decided to fish around the debris in that spot and after about half an hour, I didn't get a single bite. So, I was getting a little discouraged.

I decided to try the other side of the point, where there is a bit more undergrowth (some of which was poison oak or poison ivy I found out later) on the bank but much less debris on the shoreline. The lake bottom slopes down gradually at about 35 - 40 degrees and there aren't as many stumps or big rocks on the bottom to get snagged on in this location.

The weather was a bit frightful, as the clouds menaced with the threat of rain, and thunder occasionally threatened the prospects of a premature ending to my fishing trip.

In fact, when I decided to try out my newly acquired metal "stringer" (the type with the metal clips), I suddenly thought better of it as I had visions of being struck by lightning while holding the conductive "chain-o-death".

It turned out that the storm never really did come down out of the mountains, and the fishing proved to be fantastic in my newly acquired location. I caught my limit before it got dark, which was about 45 minutes after I started fishing there. The fish were small, but I was very happy with my success.

I took the fish home and after cleaning them, I salted them, rolled them in flour and fried them in some oil outside on the propane burner. They were absolutely delicious! All of the fish-eating members of the family enjoyed them.

On the next trip, my son went with me and he caught five trout, while I only caught two! It was weird, as soon as he had his limit, the fish just stopped biting. Since dad had been busy helping the boy after landing his fish and gobbing fresh PowerBait onto his treble hook, he had been too busy to catch his limit before dark on this trip- or that's my excuse at least.

Yesterday at Foster I didn't even try for any rainbows. All I did was cast lures for smallmouth bass. My son only caught the one trout pictured above, and then he started casting for bass too. We ended up landing seven smallmouth bass ranging from 6 - 8 inches in length, and two northern pikeminnow using various lures.

So, it has been quite nice to enjoy the outdoors with my son at Foster this spring. Now if only we can heal from the afflictions of nature, i.e., bug bites and poison oak, we will head out again soon!

Tight Lines!

-Brigham Brewer