Line Side Big Mouth
I almost named this Fish Art post “Southern Largemouth Trout”. However, it was a misread of largemouth bass nicknames that were separated by a comma which I missed. The list that I found is located online here. Additionally, I figure it’s not fair to the sturdy holdover trout here in the Texas Hill Country that get stocked annually in the Guadalupe River. Line side and big mouth just happened to be the next two in line I liked the most. So, I decided to combine them. Who knows, maybe Southern Bigmouth Trout will stick though?
In lack of being able to fly fish the past several days- I submit this Autodesk Sketchbook Pro generated art I made as the background for the device of your choosing. Bass- Largemouth, Smallmouth, coveted Guadie, or any bass for that matter are my preferred game fish here in Tejas. Recent competition in a Hill Country tourney have me chunking flies at any and everything. But since I haven’t been doing any of that lately, my routine iPad Terminal Angler Syndrome (TAS) therapy is helping the symptoms abate. Enjoy!
See you on the high ground,
AirborneAngler
Field Fish
In lieu of being able to fish for lunch- opted for the next closest thing at hand. My pen and my field book- both literally at hand. I call it field fish for two reasons. Field expedient methods are often rough as is this sketch. I also drew this in a field book- reason number two. No real science to it but it just helped bridge the gap between fishing and not fishing. What’s your bridge?
This was the first fish I caught on my first self tied fly.
See you on the high ground,
AirborneAngler
Humping the ‘yak
Originally posted at TexasRiverBum.com on 14 September 2011.
Foreword, a note from the author: First, the term ‘humping’ in the infantry world simply means to haul, carry, backpack, or even drag a piece of equipment across God’s green earth. This is typically executed uphill in both directions. With this being made clear I also need to add that this written recollection is no tail of grandeur. Not for the glorious experienced fisher anyway. No, this is rather a personal tale of a successful expedition with a new battle buddy on the water. It’s about finding a new challenge and learning. This is my Blanco Basic Training. It all starts with humping the ‘yak.
Dave, my new battle buddy/fly fishing drill instructor, is once again the man with the plan. Unfortunately, I am still not accustomed to the ultra-early mornings he plans (when the French and Indians attack) but I still understand their necessity. My face is mashed against the steering wheel as I wait for him at our link-up site. Drooling over the horn I think-half-dream of the fish I want to catch. Then, with a flash of light the beast catches my cloudy eyes. As I focus a yellow kayak approaches. It’s Dave. Yay Dave!
Load Transfer (click to enlarge)
He has his daughter in tow, Jazmin, or Jaz as Dave calls her. She is riding shotgun and I wave hello as they park next to me. My eyes are half blinded from the yellow ‘yak on the roof of his jeep. We need to down load and transfer the gear because the logistics of finding a place to dump in the river and finding a place to pull out dictates it so. Introductions are made, gear is swapped, and we are off to the Blanco— Wimberley bound.
The First ‘yak Drag (click to enlarge)
Fast forward now and we are at the throw in point. There is always a sense of anxiousness when on the line of departure. There is a sense of knowing the adventure ahead of you from where you are about to step off holds limitless opportunities. The first opportunity I get to snag anything presents itself in the form of the kayak’s bow drag handle, not a fish. We have to drag the boat to the first pool. The day is young and I am fresh so this was totally non-issue. Stepping in water I get chills, in the literal sense! This is a sensation lost six months back when the current Texas heat wave crept in and remains in force still.
Cool clear water—ah!
Practice Pool (click to enlarge)
The ‘yak is humped over to the first pool; this is where I get to play target practice and zero in my cast. Dave had me tie on a Tussle Spider and aim for the opposite bank. Zeroing in takes some time but I am getting there. Then—zip! Snap! Bullets? No, the green flash past me is no tracer. It’s my neon green Tussle Spider and I’ve zipped it past me so fast with just the right snap of the wrist too far to the rear that the snap-pop report I hear follow is the fly tapping the water and snapping off. Grumble, mumble, explicit beep— wait I didn’t lose it! I found it in the brush behind. This little booger is going to be lucky. I can tell.
Now, many reading this have fished before. If not all readers, anyone reading this only cares about the de-brief highlights and any pictures attached. So, I’ll get straight to the highlight reel. The trip went like this: drag the ‘yak, a baby green pig, two cats, drag the ‘yak, another baby pig but this one is flying, then more dragging the ’yak. All this sprinkled liberally with Rio’s and Redbreasts. Do I have your attention yet? Read on and remember this is a rated G story.
First Big pool (click to enlarge)
Slipping into the first big pool of the day, Jazmin right off the bat gets this ginormous Largemouth Bass on line. By Dave’s best guesstimation it beats out her best bass of 19” by at least four inches as it stands on its tail and shakes its gaping maw. All I see is a big green baby pig trying to jump its fat butt out of the water. We have no pics and can neither confirm nor deny the validity of this report. We do however reserve the right to make counter accusations. If scouts honor doesn’t work for you to take our word and you don’t like it—well, whatever. If you do like it—well, whatever anyways. It set the mood for the hunt. We were hungry for the fight.
Did you catch the part where we had to drag the kayak? Look, I’ll stop complaining about it here. (Lie.) It wasn’t that bad. (Lie.) No seriously, I don’t want to complain too bad about it because Dave was playing fish guide and I was really appreciating it. (True.) In fact, it was the kind of guide people pay for. (True again.) But, I in no way envied Jaz as she lightly trotted past drought stricken areas with her lightweight float tube on her back where we had to lift the ‘yak out and carry it. (LIE!)
Kayaks are good and we like; tubes are better. Write that down.
Now here is where unfortunately salt goes in the wound. Insert tab A salt into slot B wound. Jaz lost another giant later down the river, this time a Smallmouth Bass that spent more time in the air than in the water. Dave and Jazmin both: grumble, mumble, explicit beep. Dave crying for the missed picture op, Jaz for the fish.
Channel Catfish (click to enlarge)
We fished all day! It was awesome. I learned (sort-of) how to cast Dave’s weighted Flying Ghost Cat. Caught me a catfish on it—filthy cannibal! And I almost snagged my face in a bad cast. Even more important though was learning how to grab hold of a catfish so they don’t bayonet your hand with their poison pikes. I’m not going to lie; I get squeamish on grabbing fish to de-hook. I know Dave had to be thinking “sissy.” But I got stabbed as a kid by a floppy bluegill and developed Fishy-PTSD since. Don’t laugh! Its reel! So my mom always had to unhook them for me after. Well, momma wasn’t around today and I wasn’t about to ask Dave. So, continue mission and forget I said it. Forget I said it.
Rio Grande Cichlid (click to enlarge)
- Largemouth Bass (click to enlarge)
I did pick up a few Rio’s and they are fun to catch! When Dave lands one you can be sure to hear him cheer them on fast five times, “Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight!” They are tough little guys for their size and are just plain fun. Likewise, the Redbreast Sunfish are equally exciting targets of opportunity. “Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight!”
Redbreast Sunfish (click to enlarge)
The day was great. We caught fish, dragged a kayak, and I learned to set a hook. Note to self, it’s ok if I occasionally launch a fish out of the water in the name of setting hooks. I got lucky several times that none of my fishy’s jumped hook and broke contact. I don’t know how many times I was late to reflex and set but I now know its better late than never. Final learning points: Pecan trees are nice and shakable if you land a fly in them. Cypress trees are not so forgiving. Write that down. So when you cast make sure you have a good battle sight zero and aim small, miss small. The Blanco is a great place to learn and The Green Mile delivers a great mix of chance contact encounters with fish to hand. Get outside and go find some water.
Until then, I’ll see you on the high ground – Airborne Angler
More than Fish to Hand
Originally posted at TexasRiverBum.com on 15 August 2011.
0315 – This is going to be rough.
I hate mornings because I am such a slow starter. But my brain slowly goes to recovery mode and recalls the plan to meet my new found friend Dave at his house by o’dark-thirty, (that’s Army translation for anything before sun-up) and in this case is 4:30 in the a.m.
What was I thinking when I signed up for this?
Oh yeah, he is going to teach me fly fishing and apparently fishing universally means the early the better. Well, anything worth doing usually comes at a cost like this so I’ve eagerly agreed to the price of admission.
Dave for some reason has taken up teaching this infantry grunt out of some unknown and unearned kindness. For this I am grateful. I jotted down the mental note of the angler I want to be and assume the debt of “pay it forward”, by the example set before me. There is more than fish in this river today.
We’re heading to the Colorado River to a spot Dave did a recon on the week before. It’s above Lake Travis where the recent dry spell – going on for some time now, has areas of the man-made lake back to its river roots. The water level is nearing 30′ lower than average so our trip has a rediscovery allure to it.
We rig up in the dark. The morning air is already humid and I cannot wait to be waist deep in the cool water. Before I step off the bank I’ve already been taught a new knot and handed newly minted flies. They’re like gold nuggets in my hand, their mettle soon to be tested in battle.
Freshwater Drum (click to enlarge)
My first fish is a drum. He’s a little guy and after a quick photo he’s set free. Either he didn’t learn his lesson, likes me a whole heck of a lot, or has a twin – but my second fish to hand bears a striking resemblance to the first. I’m slowly becoming addicted and am dying to catch a bass. Too many images of the fishing channel trophy bass on cable television flicker in my head. Here fishy, fishy, fishy. Here fishy, fishy, fishy. I’m suddenly 7 years old again and nothing is cooler on earth.
Dave has caught a few small bass and lost a large one before he catches the bass of the day. He does this effortlessly. Literally – he didn’t even try. Frustrated about losing the big bass, he targets gar and eventually lands one on his ultralight outfit after a good fight. I didn’t know gar could dance or that their leaps could span the water’s surface by 20′. Dave coins the term ‘Rocket Fish’ and for me, thus shall gar ever be G.A.R. – Guided Aquatic Rockets.
As he wrangles the 30″ FUGLY-flopping fish into his 24″ net, he patiently wades and closer to the bank so I can close in for the picture-op. He’s removed the hook and flung it to the side. Well, at some point a nosey Largemouth Bass has inquired on the ruckus and found a quick meal; Dave’s hook.
Seriously?
I’m false casting my arm to the point of falling off and still bass-less and with a flick of the fly he finds one. Lesson learned: Murphy’s Law of Texas Fly Casting number 9, don’t care, don’t target- just fish. So, gar fish half in hand – half in net, Dave uses the “3 Stooges” technique to pull in fishy number two of a one cast series.
Longnose Gar and Largemouth Bass (click to enlarge)
Mid-day and we are out of time, the demands of the real world beckon us, so with me still bass-less we have to retreat from these waters. Today was but a small skirmish, to prepare me for the more serious fly fishing engagements I’ll soon face. For me though, I’ve caught more than fish to hand. I’ve caught a fever; hot air, cool water, and I’ve become consumed with casting flies on the water.
Remember your first fish when you caught the fever?
Now days later, every nearby stream beckons me. The current calls to me in the ripples of every brook. The craving for the simple serenity of fly casting soothes my soul when in the water – ironically, the hook is set.
More than fish has come to hand.
See you on the high ground,
AirborneAngler
The AirborneAngler 