Monday, May 22, 2017

White River "Streamer Arm" (w/ Video)


Radial Neuropathy is the “acute trauma to the radial nerve that extends the length of the arm.”  Some common symptoms include, numbness (back of the hand and wrist), and inability to voluntarily straighten the fingers.  Loss of wrist extension is due to loss of the ability to move of the posterior compartment of forearm muscles.”  In the college scene, it's better known as Drunk Arm.  It’s the result of binge drinking to the point of passing out on your arm and damaging the nerve.  In the fly fishing world it’s simply known as, Streamer Arm.  


While I have never experienced drunk arm, I can assert that 40 hours of rowing and slinging 8-10 inch streamers is traumatic to the casting arm.  Imagine if Miami Marlins RF Giancarlo Stanton used your arm for a bat in the Home Run Derby and you’re getting close to the feeling.   

High Water and fast flows


How do you know if you’re suffering from streamer arm?  Aside from the more recognizable symptoms such as, regularly blaming your poor casting on your throbbing elbow, debating the use of a woolly bugger as a streamer and the constant smell of Icy Hot in the boat.  There are some lesser known signs to look for, like wondering if you can overdose on Ibuprofen. 




Also, if you're camping in an area that’s under a tornado watch and the sound of a C-130 landing on your head wakes you up.  The idea of using your cell phone to check the weather seems logical but the action involves using your arm.  Instead, you take another Ibuprofen.    

Lunch





If you’re still not sure.  A conversation I had with my wife when I got home might help.  Wife, “Did y’all sleep any this weekend?  You look terrible.  What’s wrong with your right eye?  I think you have Pink Eye.  Gross, you have a bug in it.”  Me, "Oh yeah, I remember it flying in there Saturday night but my arm hurt too much to dig it out.  Can you open the Ibuprofen bottle for me?" 




And why do we do it?  When you see a 25-27-inch brown tracking your fly back to the boat, you’ll understand?  It’s worth every painful minute.  Can’t wait to get back to the White River and suffer again!



Sunday, April 30, 2017

The Devils River (w/ video)

Driving across the rugged landscape, DW our Shuttle driver from Amistad Expeditions, detailed his quickest turn around.  He hadn't made it out of the North SNA when he got a call from a park ranger to turn around and come get the guys he had just put on the river.  The ranger happened to be at Dolan Falls when he watched a kayak go over the falls slamming its occupant against the rocks.  This was the warning we received; don't trespass, don't be a victim, don't be someone else's problem, and take care of yourself on the river.  There's no one coming to save you.  If you exit the river, it better be a "life or death" event.

Nick and James fishing



Looking down at the river from the side of the cliff, I could see how such an accident could easily occur.  My first impressions of this place I had been dreaming about for two years was one of natural beauty that intoxicates, no seduces you, but holds no such feeling for those that choose to tempt the Devils.  I was about to tempt it with three guys I had met the night before.   


Dolan Falls


The first few hours felt more like a dream than reality.  Nothing I had seen accurately portrayed how imposing the landscape was.  The bluffs towered over us from every direction and seemed to never end.  Dotted with cactus and other inhospitable vegetation, it was an intimidating sight.  In contrast, the river was the most vivid and inviting turquoise blue color.  It was cool to the touch and refreshing to drink.  The adventure was about to get real.



Devils river carp

3-tier falls

The roar of Dolan Falls woke me to the first formidable obstacle of the trip.  A 10-foot waterfall that had to be portaged.  Nick and James made the drop first followed by Dave and me.  Initially, I was worried about the dynamics of the group.  This trip would require patience and a high level of teamwork.  Both were on display and executed flawlessly at the falls.  I knew the trip was going to be a great one when Dave decided to do a backflip off the ledge.




James sight fished this catfish

The rest of the day was spent running the various rapids, fishing and portaging the shallow areas.  Like everything else on the Devils the portages weren't easy.  Some required dragging your kayak 50 yards or more.  Others required getting in and out of your kayak every few feet negotiating the catacomb like ledges.  We didn't fully appreciate the impact of the portaging until the sun was starting to set.  We were still over a mile from camp with two rapids to run and only 1.5 hours of daylight remaining. 





We pulled into camp and got set-up with 30 minutes to spare.  With hammocks strung from the trees, we started to boil water for our dehydrated meals.  Nick began to talk about the gourmet cuisine he had eaten on his last trip with Reel Fly Adventures two weeks prior.  Everyone's thinking about steak, when I read the label on my MRE,  "Chana Marsala".  How did that get here?  It should read "Chicken Marsala".  From the label, an Indian curry dish with chilies and rice from the Punjab region of India.  Nope, that's not going to work.  I felt like the Punjab region of India might be digestive disaster waiting to happen and I only had three WAG bags.  Decided to pack it out and save it for another trip. 






The next morning, we got an early start thanks to Nick's alarm.  It might have been the first time I have ever heard an alarm on a camping trip.  Dude is a machine.  Before I could drink my first cup of coffee, Nick was packed and sitting in his kayak.  He was super eager to get some fishing in during the morning hours and I honestly can't remember when he left.  It didn't really matter.  Wednesday would be the day of 25 mph tailwinds.  Plus it's always cool to meet other people who get as excited about fishing as I do.  However, my engine requires three cups of coffee before starting.


Beautiful smallie Dave caught




We cursed the winds and I nearly killed James on day two.  It wasn't my fault.  The passing lane is on the left.  It's clearly written on every sign along the highway in Texas.  He was negotiating the last drop of a rapid (out of my view) when I started down.  His hazard lights were flashing so I passed on the left yelling, "coming through."  He jumped into the river to avoid the collision but it really wasn't that close.  That's the highlight of day two.  The tailwinds helped us cover 7 miles of river before 3pm.  The 25-30 mph winds tried to strangle me with my fly line and more than once I had to duck to avoid a face piercing.  Running the many rapids proved the most exciting part of the day, unless you're James. 


The "Canyon"

Hieroglyphics

We pulled into camp around 3pm.  Sitting in a hammock enjoying the tranquility of a wild river with new friends isn't a bad place to be.  It provided a great opportunity to reflect.  We discussed how our kayaks handled the river, what patterns worked and what we would do differently next time.  As the afternoon passed, some wade fished and others napped.  But as the sun was setting, we all found ourselves sitting along the river's edge watching the western cliffs shadow move slowly up the eastern slope.  That night the winds shifted and the temperature dropped sharply.  The last day we would face a ferocious head wind. 






Thursday started with everyone filtering water for breakfast.   It was the last day and the vibe I sensed was one of disappointment.  No one wanted it to be the last day.  Our pick-up time wasn't until 4 pm so we had a full day on the river planned.  We fished when and where we could but the winds made it a difficult prospect.  Then it happened, I saw another boat on the river.  We had seen 4 guys at the start but never ran into them or anyone else during our trip, until today.  It was the perfect reminder of why I came here.  Its remoteness means you'll likely be alone most of your trip.  It was also a reminder of what DW said on day one, no one's coming to save you.


Sight fished the last day at the take out



Each of us traveled to this wild place to find something.  Whether it was fishing, an adventure, or to check off a bucket list trip.  I'm confident we found what we were seeking.  We arrived as strangers but left as friends forged in the fire of the Devils River ready to tackle that next adventure. 


The Video (for best quality open and play on YouTube)








Thursday, April 13, 2017

Orvis Pro Tips: How to Catch Grass Carp on the Fly

I was recently asked to write a post for Orvis giving some tips about catching grass carp on the fly (link below).  I faced this scenario one weekend while trying to get some images to accompany the story.


You've paddled across a bay to a nearby flat that you suspect has grass carp feeding on it.  On the way you noticed more boat traffic than usual on the water.  You also managed to spook a couple carp that you did not see. 


As you stand to scan the flat before moving further, you notice a grasser tailing at the back of the flat. This is exciting because tailing carp give you a fighting chance.  As you begin to push pole across the flat being cautious not to make a sound, you see one swimming towards you.  Do you cast at it or try to avoid it?  From experience, I know if I spook that carp it's more than likely going to put that tailer down also.  Here's what I did.


I backed off and avoided the potential land mine.  I knew my best opportunity for getting an eat was getting a fly near the tailing carp.  The moving carp was also an opportunity but the odds were not in my favor.  It was moving towards me and I wasn't sure if it was one of the carp I spooked earlier.  If you present to every grass carp you see you'll likely have a tough outing.  Being selective sometimes increases your odds of success.  This was one of many tips I provided to Orvis found here:
http://www.orvis.com/news/fly-fishing/pro-tips-catch-grass-carp-fly/

And a short video from the pursuit: 





Thursday, March 23, 2017

Gotta love the Marsh

I love that smell.  It’ll never be bottled and hanging out on the top shelf of Victoria's Secret, but the marsh has a distinct aroma that I dig.  It’s that smell that first greets and welcomes me to the game.


I love the game.  The search for those elusive reds that seem to appear and disappear effortlessly.  It’s the ultimate game of hide-n-seek.  At times, the sun will have them glowing like fire in the water.  Other times, the eyes search so hard they sting from the strain.





I love the eat.  That moment in time when cause and effect are perfectly balanced.  A romantic vision of tight loops, presenting handsome fly’s, to unsuspecting targets.  The tranquil marsh turned into a battle ground of rage and fury as the offering is victimized.



I love the conflict.  It’s complete anarchy, a tug-of-war between man and fish at the end of a fly rod.  Fly line ripping off the reel one moment.  Then the red turns and doubles back.  While you struggle to reacquire the lost line, you watch the red dive under your kayak.  There’s no tapping out, either clear the bow or watch your fly rod get shattered. 



I love the playing field.  It’s a place of natural beauty that becomes the ultimate obstacle course.  Marsh islands, oyster reefs, pilings and your own kayak are in play.  The winner is the one that can negotiate the obstacles the best. 





I love the surrender.  That moment when the game has been played and the victor chosen.  We shake hands and wish each other well because there are no losers today.  Watching my opponent swim away is the ultimate sign of respect.  The next encounter could go differently.