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lesserplaces · 6 years ago

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Last weekend I went dove hunting.

It was the first time out for my new shotgun, a lovely Weatherby Orion I stocked with with a particularly good piece of wood. I find pass shooting doves as they come into roost a pretty boring affair, so I tend to hunt on foot, treating the doves as smaller, more nimble quail. Shots are close but but snappy and bring the sport back into what can be a pretty sport-less activity.

Storms were rolling in fast and I knew that there wouldn’t be time to walk to the area I had planned. Instead picked out a small area that appeared to be slightly more riparian along the way and started busting through the bushes. Within a moment I heard a flush, raised the shotgun, and after a boom I smiled. The Weatherby had gone one for one and the gun was not cursed.

I wish I could say the same for my Orvis Helios 3D.

When I bought the H3 I was excited. This was my graduation present for finishing my PhD and the first truly top tier rod I had ever purchased. I compared the 3F and 3D at my local, and beloved, Orvis dealer and within two casts I knew the 3D, particularly in the 9 ft 4 wt guise, was the one for me.

I was in love. Completely and totally enamoured. The rod matched my casting stroke perfectly. It shot tons of line but still had the feel of a 4 wt. It was beautifully crafted, with perfect cork and an extremely noticible white section along the blank that spoke directly to the part of my soul that loves Instagram likes. I was young and in love and even bought the matching blue Mirage reel because people who are young and in love do stupid things. That night images of long casts, big fish, and crippling credit card statements danced in my head. I was happy.

My first trip out didn’t go so well. I say this as a compliment, but the H3 had a way of rewarding you for making good casts and punishing you for making bad ones. It is hard to describe, but think about it this way: with some of my other rods I can make a bad cast, get upset about where it lands, make the exact same cast, and have the fly end up in a different, maybe better, place because the rod isn’t very precise. In short, I can cheat. That isn’t the case with the H3. If you make the same cast twice the fly is going to the same place twice, whether you like it or not. Make a good cast and this is wonderful. Repeat a bad cast and get ready to take a hit to your self-esteem. In general I’m not a big believer in marketing hype, but to this rod’s immense credit its accuracy has improved my stroke.

Because I was a worse caster than I knew, I spent a lot more time on my first trip cleaning up my bad habits than fishing. I managed to avoid catching any fish, but I did run into this excellently designed erosion control feature.

At this point I was disappointed but not stressed. Yes, I wanted to catch a fish on the first trip with the rod, but certainly this was not a portent of things to come. Next up was casing Apache Trout on the LCR.

Skunked. Then some rainbows at Lee’s Ferry.

Skunked. Then some browns in Chevelon Creek.

Skunked. There was even a trip to Canyon Creek where I got so skunked and so upset with myself that I didn’t take a single picture. Going into last summer I hadn’t been skunked for years and all the sudden I couldn’t catch anything.

And that’s when the thought first crept into my mind: the H3 is cursed.

As summer rolled around it came time to pick which rod I would take on the annual fishyoneering trips. The 9 ft H3’s ability to reach cast above the bushes beckoned, but my trustly and vaguely fishy smelling Superfine called to me. Maybe I should break out the old rod, I thought, not because the H3 is cursed or anything, that would be ridiculous, but just for nostalgia’s sake.

Not skunked. Then I decided to break out the Sage Foundation.

Not skunked. Things were looking bleak.

Incredible claims require incredible evidence, and claiming a rod is cursed is certainly incredible. Worried I might be right, I roped Curry into testing the fishy-iest place I know of this side of Fossil Creek: a reliable pool along the Black River.

Over the years I have caught countless fish here. Not always big, but sometimes excellent, this is a go to pool with tons of browns.

So at 1 in the morning Curry and hopped in the Mighty Forester and took off across the state. We timed things perfectly and right at dawn our first flies hit the pool. Nothing. We rested the fish. Nothing. We switched flies. Nothing.

Things were getting dire, so we pushed downstream into some really rough country.

But no matter how remote the pool we found, nothing. Around noon we finally had to admit the obvious: this rod was cursed as hell.

In the name of full disclosure, I should mention that the H3 has brought in one very nice fish.

And yes, we did catch one tiny fish while working our way back to the car on the Black that afternoon. But none of this shook our conclusion. This rod was as cursed as a rod could be.

Of course, the very idea of a rod being cursed is patently ridiculous. A more likely explanation is that I just don’t fish as much as I used to an I’ve lost my edge. Or, that if you fish long enough you’re bound to Wayatt Earp a string of bad luck that will make it seem like your gear is the problem when it really is all chance. Plus, of all the rods in the world why would my rod be the one that is cursed? I haven’t robbed and tombs or kicked any puppies, this rod was my reward for a decade of hard work! Most of all, the H3 can’t be cursed because curses aren’t real.

Maybe.

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Max Wilson is a born and raised Arizonan with a love for all that is beautiful and strange about the Southwest. He studied at Arizona State University, where he received his PhD in ecology. He writes here at Lesser Places, occasionally for Backpacker, and even more occasionally for scientific journals. You can follow him on twitter @maxomillions.

What to do when you’ve spent an unspeakable amount of money on a rod that is probably cursed Last weekend I went dove hunting. It was the first time out for my new shotgun, a lovely Weatherby Orion I stocked with with a particularly good piece of wood.

#fishing #Fly Fishing #flyfishing #gear #nature #outdoors

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lesserplaces · 6 years ago

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Summertime,

And the living is easy.

Fish are jumping,

And the cotton is high.

Oh, your daddy’s rich,

And your Ma’s good looking.

So hush little baby,

Don’t you cry.

And the living is easy Summertime, And the living is easy. Fish are jumping, And the cotton is high. Oh, your daddy's rich,

#backpacking #family #fishing #Fly Fishing #hiking

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lesserplaces · 6 years ago

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Here we go round the prickly pear

Prickly pear

Here we go round the the prickly pear

At five o’clock in the morning.

On June 8, 2019, on of the Great American Wildernesses began to burn.

Within hours it became clear that there was little we could do other than hope.

It turns out hope is flammable.

III

The land is patient,

The land is kind.

It does not envy,

It does not boast,

It is not proud.

It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

The land does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects,

Always trusts,

Always hopes,

Always perseveres.

The fire’s growth has slowed enough for us to be able to reflect on what has been lost.

There is Reavis Ranch, who offered wood to keep us warm, and Campaign, who lifted us far from the valley floor. Whiskey Springs, who taught us the joy of being poked by thorny plants, and La Barge, who showed us the value of solitude.

There is West Pinto, whose hills kept their secrets, Cuff Button, who brought us to our knees, and Red Tanks, whose womb I crawled into when I had no where else to go. We asked much of these places and we gave back very little.

Soon they will start to recover, each a tiny Forests of Theseus. We will, and should, find some consolation in this. But we also shouldn’t be fooled: though they may look the same we will never see the forests of our youth with old eyes.

It is dark and I am reading Jack a book.

“I don’t need very much now,”

said the boy.

“Just a quite place to sit and rest.

I am very tired.”

“Well,” said the tree,

straightening herself up

as much as she could,

“Well and old stump is good

for sitting and resting,

Come, Boy, sit down.

Sit down and rest.”

And the boy did.

And the tree was happy.

He asks me to read it again. I can’t. I am crying.

Fire on the Mountain I Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear Prickly pear Here we go round the the prickly pear…

#backpacking #fire #hiking #wilderness #wildfire

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lesserplaces · 6 years ago

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The Perfect Skunking

Lesser Places has been going through a lot lately. On top of a busy job and a simply crushing case of writers block, I’ve been having a particularly odd problem: getting skunked. Skunked hard. Skunked in places I know have fish. Skunked in places that I drove far to get to. Skunked with the kids around. Skunked alone. Skunked after long hikes. Just skunked. And well, I don’t like writing about…

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#fishing #Fly Fishing #hiking #outdoors

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lesserplaces · 6 years ago

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With Spring having sprung, Angie and I were dangerously close to not repeating our annual family Fossil Creek fishing trip. Things had gone well last year when little newborn Henry had gotten his first outdoors experience.

Though the look on Henry’s face shows he might disagree with my assessment.

Regardless, we loaded up the Mighty Forester and took off towards our favorite haunt.

Fed by the most incredible winter storm I have ever experienced, the creek was running very high, cold, and off color. I knew this didn’t bode well for the fishing, but that didn’t mean Jack couldn’t try is hand at a few casts.

Frustrated at the very idea of getting skunked in my trusty fishing hole, I traded rods with Jack and climbed down to the best fishing spot.

Nothing. Henry was not impressed.

But kids are optimists and the situation did not stop Jack from running his line through the pool over and over again.

I couldn’t help but be a little proud. He was keeping his rod tip up and actually fishing instead of just casting. Unfortunately the fish just weren’t going to bit and after an hour or so we retreated to the car.

Henry never gets to do anything fun on his own, so a couple of weeks later I decided to take a trip back to Fossil with him. When we arrived I tossed him in the backpack and was relieved to find that the waters had returned to normal flow and clarity. My usual fishing spot, the one with the big fish, requires a bit of a down climb. I considered it for some time before deciding discretion is the better part of valor and heading off to a rock I knew fished well.

First cast brought a tiny chub that was just taking on his spawning colors…

…which Henry thought was just about the funniest thing he had ever seen.

While we sat on the rock fishing I thought about how quickly things had changed. Just a year ago Henry was fishing from this very rock as a six week old strapped to his Momma’s chest.

Realizing his dad was getting a little pensive, Henry intervened with a rousing set of zerberts.

This reminded me of the first rule of parenting: quit while you are ahead. With a happy toddler in tow, Henry and I packed up and headed home, putting another season of fishing Fossil Creek in the books.

Two Trips to Fossil With Spring having sprung, Angie and I were dangerously close to not repeating our annual family Fossil Creek fishing trip.

#backpacking #family #family adventures #fishing #Fly Fishing #flyfishing #hiking

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lesserplaces · 6 years ago

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Frozen Beards and Fat Fish

Every once in a while you need to do something dumb. A few weeks ago, 36 hours after the storm of the Century, Curry and I felt the urge and took off towards Silver Creek to fight the snow and find some fish.

When we started it was cold.

Really really cold.

Silver Creek can be a bit of a bore. The fish are big and plentiful, but it looks a little more like a ditch than a creek and the upper…

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#fishing #Fly Fishing #flyfishing #hiking #native fish #rainbow trout #snow #trout #winter

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lesserplaces · 6 years ago

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It was only a matter of time.

After years of loyal service strapped to my pack, my beloved camera, a Sony NEX-6, finally died. Together we’ve been through a lot — starting with countless hikes, to one kid, to a back injury, to fishing trips, to a second kid — and such a reliable companion deserves a good send off. Here’s is my best shot.

Below you will find a retelling of Margaret Wise Brown and Clement Hurd’s Goodnight Moon framed around pictures my camera took over its lifetime. Goodnight Moon is a perfect book. My youngest wont go to sleep without reading it and no kids room is complete without it. Please consider buying a copy to thank them for inspiring this post. I receive no kickbacks, but here is a link to Amazon and an independent bookstore finder for your connivence.

Under the Arizona sky

There are two little boys

With lots of things to try

And mountains with-

Trails steep enough to make sore thighs.

And two men swearing not to do this again

And a perfect canyon

And great companions

And a blue hat

And Uncle Pat

And nets full of fish we won’t put in a dish

And a views prettier than you ever could wish

Goodnight sky

Goodnight sore thighs.

Goodnight trails steep enough to make sore thighs.

Goodnight light

And goodnight things to try

Goodnight men

Goodnight swearing never to do this again

Goodnight canyon

And goodnight companions

Goodnight chub

And goodnight flubs

Goodnight blue hat

And goodnight Uncle Pat

Goodnight net

And goodnight fish

Goodnight cabin

Goodnight avoiding the dish

And goodnight views prettier than you ever could wish

Goodnight kids

Goodnight Mom

Goodnight perfect nighttime calm.

Goodnight Sky; or, how to say goodbye to a perfect camera It was only a matter of time. After years of loyal service strapped to my pack, my beloved camera, a Sony NEX-6, finally died.

#Baby #backpacking #family #fishing #hiking #photography #toddler

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lesserplaces · 7 years ago

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Jack is growing up.

A solid three and half now, his spot in the kid carrier backpack has been taken by his little brother and it is time for him to go from occasional to full time walker on hikes. The transition hasn’t been easy and there have been a lot of “carry me” requests along the way. So, last weekend I took the opportunity of Angie and Henry being booked on a play date to throw Jack in the deep end and take a hike with no kid carrier in tow.

After a little bit of thinking something else jumped into my head: Since Jack is already going to be doing something hard why don’t we also try to overwrite his one bad outdoors memory? Two birds, one stone.

Of course I am talking about the great poop-splosion of 2017, when a disastrous apple fritter was turned into vile excrement that soaked Jack, I, and the kid carrier about a mile from the car. This was, by a very large margin, the funniest thing that has ever happened to me outdoors. It was also a very bad moment for Mr. Jack and taking the time to right that particular piece of bad parenting has been high on my list. And so, we were off to Fossil.

Things started off as usual– not even 10 steps down the trail Jack decided that he needed the jacket he had just told me he did not want.

And with that crisis averted, we got started for real.

It is amazing how slow walking makes the walk feel longer. The relatively short section before the trail drops down to the water, which is normally over in a blink, stretched on and on. Before too long I made the mistake of mentioning a snack and Jack decided that was a good moment to take a break.

This was as good an excuse as any to break out the fly rod. Jack was a good sport, letting me take more than my fair share of casts. Or maybe he was just excited for more Captain Crunch time.

I always forget how hard walking on river rocks is for the little ones– the rocks that adults step over are tiny scrambles for a three year old. The trail gets considerably more rocky for the last half, but Jack was pretty darn tough all things considered. Finally, we made it.

And after taking some time to complain about the high collar on his jacket, Jack started doing his best Lesser-Places-Look-Into-The-Distance impression.

He needed a good break here, so I decided to throw a line in the water while he attacked the last crumbs of his Captain Crunch. This pool is notoriously hard to fish, with complicated currents and deep drop offs, so I was as surprised when a good sized chub attacked my nymph.

Sooner than we probably should of Jack and I set off back towards the car. Slowly but surely we made our way back despite the many obstacles.

Of course we had to take a second and return to the scene of the crime from last year. Beside the pool that had been such a disaster for us a year ago Jack sat down. Nearly done with his first real hike he cracked a big kid smile that said the toddler days are over.

I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately, how to ebbs and how it flows. Life feels fast right now. Unbearably, unbreakably fast, and I’d like to know why.

People say nature helps them slow down but I’ve never found this to be true. For me nature moves at whatever pace I bring to it. If I come feeling slow, I can look at a creek as a whole and see its soft repetitive patterns. If I come feeling fast I am consumed in the frenetic motion of each tiny piece of water. I see in it what I want to see.

But that doesn’t mean nature is disconnected from how I perceive change. Because they are near by I tend to take the same hikes and fish the same pools again and again. These places (generally) don’t change much, but I sure do. Over time these places become a fixed canvas that highlights the the small, gradual changes that get lost in the day to day fray. Nature is a lot of things to a lot of people. One of them is a time machine that reminds you how different you are from your last visit.

Or to put it more simply: A year ago a toddler was carried into Fossil Creek. This week a kid hiked out.

I couldn’t be prouder.

And Jack Totally Redeems Himself Jack is growing up. A solid three and half now, his spot in the kid carrier backpack has been taken by his little brother and it is time for him to go from occasional to full time walker on hikes.

#family #fishing #Fly Fishing #hiking #outdoors

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lesserplaces · 7 years ago

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Editor’s Note: This post was inspired by Aldo Leopold’s seminal Thinking Like a Mountain (which you can read HERE). We’d suggest you give it a read before continuing. It is short and worthwhile. Worst case scenario, you will have knocked out one of the most important pieces of 20th century literature.

Tonight the river is trembling. Out of sight I can hear coatis playing, their chirps staccato against the droning cicadas. The warm air consumes me as the water envelopes my legs. I can feel it pushing me, slowly in some places and quickly in others. Regardless, the current beckons.

It wasn’t always like this. Some time ago I was young and, as the best among us would say, full of trigger itch. I spent a great deal of time reading the classics and I had many ideas. I went off to find mountains I could think like.

Over the years I’ve been lucky to find a great many mountains, some even with wolves to keep the deer in check. I have loved them all.

I have also seen change, some for the better and some for the worse. I have watched good intentions ruin land through the fires that are due, at least in part, to our attempts to keep fires from ravaging the land. I have also seen bad intentions ruin land through the deep and permanent scars of strip mining. I’ve seen us genuinely protect through good policy and genuinely damage through horrific stupidity. And, perhaps most tellingly, I’ve also watched strange and wonderful species from the south of move north without any of us doing anything at all.

To state the obvious, 21st century life is life on a world that seems to be turning, and is certainly warming, faster than it should. More than anything my lifetime has been dominated by change, and neither you, nor I, can hold back the tide. What we can do, however, is prepare for change, plan for it and adapt to it. And so, I’ve begun to think that old Aldo chose the wrong geography for us to think like: we need to think like rivers, not mountains.

The struggle of a river is to find a way to maintain its character while dealing with the fact that the water in it’s banks today will be long gone tomorrow. Rivers flow, after all, and in flowing the are shaped. This shape gives both character to the water, whether it will be a riffle or a pool, and is molded by the water as it passes by. Mountains, on the other hand, are born of a single act, the inexorable forces of geology, only to be ground down by wind and rain once the pressure of their birth dies. Mountains provide a vernier of permanence. Yes, they will outlast you and I, but don’t be fooled: all mountains end their lives in pieces.

Rivers, on the other hand, change because they must– Gravity demands it. They are malleable by nature but they are not invincible. Pull enough water out from underneath them, cut enough vegetation from their banks, or divert enough water to other uses and quickly a river becomes something else– perhaps a stream, perhaps a swamp, perhaps just a different kind of river. Rivers change, and they are always changing, but push them too far and the river you have will cease to be. The struggle of a river is to dance between change and persistence where banks shaped by the past must struggle to hold the waters of today.

In the end, Aldo was right. “…Too much safety seems to yield only danger in the long run.” However the ultimate safety, for those in power at least, is stability, knowing that the world will be the same tomorrow as it is today. But the world will change, whether we like it or not. Our struggle, then, is the struggle of rivers: to adapt, to accept change and bend it so that it does not destroy the land or us, to hold onto ourselves and our values in the face of uncertainty.

Regardless of whether we are up for the task the current beckons.

Thinking Like a River Editor's Note: This post was inspired by Aldo Leopold's seminal Thinking Like a Mountain (which you can read…

#camping #conservation #essay #ethics #fishing #hiking #outdoors

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lesserplaces · 7 years ago

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Since starting my new job at Friends of the Verde River, I have been thinking quite a bit, unsurprisingly, about my favorite stream, the East Verde River. Starting as the tiniest of micro-streams at the base of the Mogollon Rim, it is precisely the kind of ankle deep trickle that is easy to ignore.

While this might be brook trout land back east, out here this is the home of rainbows, chub, and (hopefully soon) gila trout. Most these fish are small,

But for those who are willing to do some digging, fight a little poison ivy, and catch more snags that fish, there are some diamonds in the rough.

It is a perfect stream.

One watershed up the hill, you find Fossil Creek.

Fed by insatiable springs that push untold gallons down the travertine banks, Fossil is known for it’s warm water and summer time excesses. That’s too bad, because the real story here is the incredible conservation success that is its flourishing roundtail chub population.

Because of the hard work of more people than we will ever be able to count, or thank, Fossil has become a beacon of what Southwestern Fly Fishing can be– a warm weather winter get away with fish you cannot find anywhere else.

It is a perfect stream.

Moving upstream further, you find West Clear Creek and Wet Beaver Creek, two waters characterized by busy downstream trails and difficult upstream access.

With sheer walls and headwaters protected by large wilderness areas, these are not streams for the feint of heart. Come ready to swim,

And to to have the canyons to yourself.

They, too, are perfect streams.

There are more. Together these streams flow into the Verde River, a ribbon of life that cuts its way through the desert. When these waters reach Phoenix, they merge with the Salt River. Here the water stops, but not without reason: these waters are the lifeblood Central Arizona.

And I guess, in it’s own kind of way, the Salt is perfect too.

By the time the Salt reaches Phoenix it contains waters from the White, Black, East Verde, and Verde Rivers as well as Tonoto, Haigler, Fossil, Clear, Wet Beaver, Sycamore, and Granite Creeks. There are more, of course.

I’ve been out on a bunch of trips lately, everywhere from the Firs to the Cottonwoods. I’ve stood in and swam across a great deal of water as well, but I’ve had some trouble finding ways to talk about each of these trips individually. Instead as we start a life in a new town, I find it much easier to remember that in the end all the water from all thes perfect streams arrives up in the same place.

Tributaries Since starting my new job at Friends of the Verde River, I have been thinking quite a bit, unsurprisingly, about my favorite stream, the East Verde River.

#canyoneering #family #fishing #Fly Fishing #flyfishing #hiking

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lesserplaces · 7 years ago

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How to Improve Your Fly Casting in 10 Easy Steps

Cast.

Cast more.

THE END

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#casting #fishing #Fly Fishing #flyfishing #how to

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lesserplaces · 7 years ago

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About a year and a half ago I wrote my review of the Orvis Battenkill Disc reel. Since that time I have fished the beejesus out of it,

And it has yielded many fish, ranging from tiny

To, “DON’T BREAK, BELOVED 4 WEIGHT.”

Over that time my review has also become one of the most popular posts here on LP. As such, I thought it was a good time to step back and revisit this miracle of modern manufacturing to let you know how it has held up to a year and a half of hard southwestern fly fishing.

First, I want to open with a caveat: southwestern fly fishing is not for the faint of heart, at least not the way I do it. Sure, we have our fair share of nice, easy streams, but you are far more likely to find me fishyoneering deep within one of Arizona’s countless wilderness areas. This means that when dropped reels fall directly on rim rock, not some fancy grass. It also means reels are often tossed down short scrambles and drug through long swims through slot canyons. It’s a hard knock life.

With that being said, let’s address the main benefit long term testing can provide: durability.

I will break this section into two categories, first, function, and second, asthetics.

Most importantly, despite the stupid abuse that I described above, my reel still functions perfectly. The drag feels like it did the day it came out of the box, the detentes on the drag knob are still crisp, and neither of my spools wobble. My only quibble is that the handle has more play in it than I would like, though I am not sure if this is a problem that has developed over time or if it was like this out of the box. This is kind of a big deal, however, as play in the handle makes the reel feel sloppier than it is. Were I Orvis remediating this problem would be my number one concern on the reel. The “step-up” market, where this reel undoubtedly falls, is fickle and full of consumers (and significant others) who are wondering whether spending the extra money was really worth it. Better to throw away a few knobs during the manufacturing process than have the customer go back to a cheapy with their next purchase.

Aesthetically, the story is not as positive. I still love the classic lines of this mid-arbor look, but, to be blunt, the reel has scratched a lot, especially around the edges.

Of course this has to be contextualized within the (ab)use the reel has gone through. I know that it has not lived an easy life and I suppose with more care it would look better. However, for what it is worth the two rods it has lived on look no worse for wear, which makes me suspect that better anodizing is in order. On one hand, some scratches seem like a silly complaint on what is a very reasonably priced machined reel. On the other, a primary reason many step up to a machined part is for better durability, and if that durability isn’t there, well, there are a lot of cast reels in this price range. On the whole, I remain neutral, neither pleased nor displeased, with how the reel has worn aesthetically.

While we are on the topic value, the Battenkill Disc remains at or near best in class. Yes, if you want a large arbor you can go to the slightly pricier, heavier, and uglier, Hydros SL (review forthcoming). Reddington offers the i.D. and Behemoth, neither of which have sealed drags and both of which are cast. Lamson offers the Liquid, which has a sealed drag, but is cast, not machined. The closest competition I can think of is the Cabelas WLX II, which is machined and sealed, but is the same price and doesn’t come with the Orvis name behind it (for whatever that is worth). If there is a reel that obviously beats the Battenkill on value, I don’t know what it is.

On other topics, my feelings remain the same. The reel is clicky, but could be clickier (Editor’s note– all reels should be clickier). The drag is smooth, but adjustment takes far to many turns of the knob. The mid-arbor is a wonderful combination of looks and practically. In short, it this reel looks and performs like a classic because it is a classic.

I want to close on a decidedly non-fishing topic: change. If you don’t like non-fishing topics on your fishing blogs, you know where the x button is.

What I’ve written here should make it clear that the Battenkill Disc isn’t perfect. It is, however, is very, very good and only $150. Just a few years ago a very, very good fly reel at $150ish dollars was simply unimaginable. The existence of this reel is made possible by the fact that under those classic lines hides a great deal of modernity. Designed on a computer, carved from a brick of aluminum by a machine more precise than all but the most expert human hands, and shipped across the ocean to a store where it sells for a price reflective of the fact that few people interceded in it’s manufacture, all while performing better than anything we used to have, the Battenkill Disc is the kind of product that makes you step back and realize just how powerful a machine modern life is. This reel is an incredible technical achievement, the latest in a series of steps moving fly fishing from an stuffy-rich-guys-club sport to something more democratic. Is that a good thing? Yes– unquestionably yes — but it is also a sign that the world is changing and, as the Red Queen says, “…it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place.” Fly fishing is in for a wild ride over the next decade or so, but I, for one, am excited to see what’s next.

Orvis Battenkill Disc Long Term Review About a year and a half ago I wrote my review of the Orvis Battenkill Disc reel…

#fishing #Fly Fishing #flyfishing #gear #reel #Review

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lesserplaces · 7 years ago

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Sorry folks, things have been a little slow here on LP while I wrapped up my PhD and found a real job. With all that behind us our little family is settling down for a new life in a new town. We’re excited, but in the fray blog posts fell a bit behind. Don’t worry though– we were still out doing stupid fun stuff! In the interest of getting caught back up so that we can write about all of our new adventures, I’ve decided to cut the text (Editor’s Note: Thank God.) and let the photos tell the story. Thanks for coming along on the ride!

Spring 2018, by the pictures Sorry folks, things have been a little slow here on LP while I wrapped up my PhD and found a real job.

#Baby #backpacking #family #fishing #Fly Fishing #hiking #toddler

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lesserplaces · 7 years ago

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Fly fishing the deep dark canyons of the southwest has become something of an obsession of mine.

Combining the best parts of canyoneering and true back country navigation with technical (and highly productive) fly fishing, “fishyoneering,” if you will, is the ultimate backcountry experience for those of us who live along the canyons of the Southwest.

However, fishyoneering is not a novice friendly endeavor and is certainly one of the most dangerous things you can do outside. As such, there is little written on the subject. I have decided to attempt to fill this void here with a guide that will provide a reasonably experienced outdoorsperson with the baseline information they will need to get started. But first, a caveat: I have been fishyoneering for about two years now, and I would not, by any stretch, consider myself an expert on the subject. Since I can find almost no other information on the topic, I’ve decided to share what little knowledge I have. Thus, think of the following as hard earned advice, not set in stone rules.

With that out of the way, lets ask a simple question: what is fishyoneering?

The simplest definition I can come up with is that fishyoneering is a type of fly fishing that occurs in narrow canyons AND requires swimming OR technical climbing. This, obviously, leaves a lot of variation. I’m not much of a climber myself, so I have chosen to focus on fly fishing in canyons which are most easily traversed by swimming when the creek completely fills the space between the sheer canyon walls and does not require rappels or climbs beyond simple scrambles. Hopefully the more technically minded of you will step in and provide more information on that side of the sport.

Since the remainder of this guide will focus on traversing rarely visited canyons, I should also state the obvious: fishyoneering is an absurdly dangerous endeavor. To be clear, we are talking about swimming relatively long distances with gear (including in your hands) while fully clothed in the middle of nowhere. If you are going to attempt this type of thing you need to be very experienced outdoors, physically fit with excellent swimming skills, able to put up with slipping off of moss covered boulders all the time, and perhaps most importantly, willing to let hundreds (thousands?) of dollars of gear sink to the bottom of a giant pool rather than die trying to save it. You will also need to be a good trip planner and map reader, as there are no trails in these areas. In short, proceed with caution and at your own risk.

ON TO THE GUIDE.

LOCATION AND SEASON

Fishyoneering requires canyons to be canyoneered. All the usual suspects along the along the edges of the Colorado Plateau are in play, and, as far as I can tell, they all have fish. My personal experiences have been focused on the creeks along the edges of the Mogollon Rim, though I assume most of these lessons will be applicable to other systems. Streams in this region usually start as a trickle, often times only ankle deep along most of their reach. However, they descend quite quickly and can offer reasonably deep (3-4 feet) pools. These parts of the creek often contain small trout, difficult casting, and cold water. However, the deepest pools, especially those with overhead cover can hold good fish.

These streams grow as the descend, and at around 5,000 ft of elevation the real fun begins. With enough water in the system to start cutting through the weak sandstone, the streams develop into long fast riffles punctuated by deep slow pools. This generally remains trout country, especially for renegade rainbows who have moved down from the summer stockings up stream.

As you move further downstream the pines will give way to sycamores and stream banks will look more like a jungle than a forest. This is the sign that it is time to transition to bass gear and give up on the idea of avoiding swims all together.

Climate-wise, fishyoneering is not a year round activity. From late fall to spring the weather is simply too cold to safely undertake such trips. In the early summer (e.g., May-June), the water will have warmed enough to be traversed, but air temperatures can be cripplingly hot. Later in the summer (e.g., July-August), monsoon season and the chance of flash floods. Another window of opportunity is after monsoon season has wound down in late September or early October. A notable exception to this seasonality is Fossil Creek (which I have written an extensive guide to fishing HERE). This creek only requires swims to get to a few of the very best fishing perches, and thus is not technically fishyoneering, but is fed by a perennial warm water spring that keeps things fishable in all but the coldest of days, as six-week old Henry can attest:

Personally, I believe the best season is May to early June, keeping a close eye on the weather forecast at all times. Never, never, undertake a trip like this with even a small chance of rain. No fish is worth dying for.

GEAR

Fishyoneering is a odd activity undertaken by very few people. As such, we will have to pick and choose from gear made for other things.

Apparel-wise, we are going to be picking from a particularly wide variety of makers. For footwear, look for shoes that drain quickly, stick well while wet, while also remaining comfortable for long hikes. My favorite outsole material thus far is Vibram Megagrip, which combines excellent grip with reasonable durability. Because wading canyons means you will be tripping on often unseen submerged boulders, I also prefer a shoe with a substantial outer shell. Currently I am using my beloved, but no longer available, Arc’teryx Acrux FL (review HERE). Outside this discontinued shoe few options remain. A dedicated canyoneering shoe, such as the 5.10 Canyoneer, is an option, but one I have no experience with. Everyone’s favorite fly fishing couple, the Jensens, have also recommended the Orvis Ultralight wading boot for hiking/wet wading. These will probably be my next shoe once the beloved Acrux’s give up the ghost. One type of shoe I would not recommend however is the sterotypical water shoe, which, in my experience, lack the stability, durability, and protective outter required for these types of trips. Regardless, remove the insoles, wash, and dry your shoes after each outting or they will take on a stank that smells like a combination of river slime, fish, sweaty feet, and mildew.

For Clothing look for quick drying options that provide excellent sun protection. Abrasion protection is also nice, but in my opinion it is worth sacrificing for quick drying. Currently I have settled on RailRiders Cool Khakis for pants and their new Sahara Sun Hoody. Both these loose a little durability relative to my favorite hiking options (VersaTac Lights and Adventure Top, for pants and shirt respectively), but they dry faster and\or breathe better. I recommend pants and shirts with long sleeves, as they will protect your from the sun and the variety of pokey plants trying to poke you. That being said, any reasonably modern (read: thin and synthetic) modern outdoors clothing will work.

Packs are somewhat more complicated. Water is very heavy, so you want the pack to drain as quickly as possible after swims. Grommets work well as drain ports.

More importantly, for reasons that should be already apparent, your pack needs to float. This can be accomplished by either filling the pack with good dry bags (I’ve good luck with those from both Sea to Summit and Osprey) without the air squeezed out or by throwing some pool noodles in the pack and dealing with everything inside getting wet. Dry bags work really well. However, they will eventually pop a leak, and you never know when that day will come. Another option is the new class of submersible backpacks, which remain very intriguing but absurdly expensive. I usually use a combination of dry bags, doubled (tripled? quadrupled?) zipplocks, with a pool noodle shoved in the pack for additional insurance. Before your first trip, find a swimming pool, jump in with all your gear, make sure your gear floats, and try a swim before doing so in some deep dark canyon far from help.

Finally, the fun stuff: tackle. Regardless of where you are on these streams, expect extremely tight quarters and the possibility of big fish. This suggests short rods (under eight feet) of reasonable strength will be best. I’ve discussed these types of rods at length HERE and HERE, so I wont make you suffer reading all that again. Instead, suffice it to say that I believe a 7 foot 4 weight is essentially perfect, especially when paired with a line that handles single-handed spey casts well.

TACTICS

On the most fundamental level you will have two choices when running a stream: from downstream up or upstream down. Running the stream from bottom to top will give you the best traditional dry fly fishing presentations, while running from top to bottom will give the best opportunities for swinging. Generally speaking, the relative locations of the trailhead and stream will put this choice beyond your control. I prefer swimming downstream to up, and when given the choice will happily trade presentation for ease of swimming.

One of the benefits of fishing places that are hard to get to is that the fish aren’t very picky. Obviously fly selection will vary considerably based on what you are targeting. For trout I tend to use nymphs of all types in the early summer, especially classics such has Copper Johns or Princes, transitioning to mini-hoppers or mini-hopper/droppers as temperatures warm up. For warm water species it is worth remembering that fish in these streams will generally be smaller than their river cousins, so keeping fly size reasonable is of great concern. A small bead head wooly bugger or semi-seal, especially when jigged slightly, will catch just about anything that moves. Or, if you insist on topwater, mini-hoppers or pan fish sized poppers can be successful.

In case the proceeding paragraph didn’t make things clear, let me be blunt: fishyonnering does not present any great fishing challenges beyond casting in incredibly tight quarters. These fish aren’t fished much and require little convincing to take a hook. This is a journey, not a destination game, and therefore I encourage you to be as creative as possible in your presentations. The rewards can be excellent.

I am a firm believer, however, that you should support local fly tiers whenever possible. Ben, at Arizona Wanderings, and Jake, at 928Flies, are my favorite local sources for high quality flies. In particular I love Ben’s mini-hoppers and Fry Creek specials and Jake’s flash back hare’s ears and streamers (which you can order through his contact page). I don’t get kickbacks or discounts from either. This is just my honest advice.

Conclusion

To summarize, fishyonnering is a dangerous activity that requires you to climb or swim through long, dark, cold canyons in the hopes of catching generally small, generally dumb fish. By any reasonable measure, it is a dumb thing to do. There are easier ways to catch bigger fish.

It is also the pinnacle of the Arizona outdoors experience. Much like combing hunting pack rafting serves to remind you of the great scale and diversity of skills places like Montana or Alaska require, combining fly fishing with canyonnering directly connects you to the impacts of water in the desert while testing your ability to succeed in a wide variety of outdoors endeavors. Until we find a way to move mountain biking and quail hunting into the fray, fishyonnering is the most diverse outdoors activity you can take on in the Southwest.

There aren’t many people who value this kind of diversity, but I am one. I hope the information that I have given here, as a novice to other novices, will be helpful in bringing more into this strange little sport. I also hope that together we can continue to fill in the blanks, especially when it comes to fishing the more technical creeks that fall outside my knowledge base.

Until then, have fun and stay safe.

Fishyoneering: A novice’s guide for novices Fly fishing the deep dark canyons of the southwest has become something of an obsession of mine.

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