Shaking Off the Dust on Cayuta Creek

Cayuta Creek has become an old friend. With the coming of each early spring I find myself drawn to her. Part of that attraction is her beauty. Sweet and petite, her waters bring out the best of early spring, before wildflowers and green leaves fill the woods around her banks.

Cayuta Creek’s beauty shines even before the forests come alive…

And part of that attraction is her ability to help me shake off the dust and lose the rust after a winter spent indoors. Her trout, some stocked, some holdover, and some wild, are always there waiting and often times willing.

Early season fly fishing on Cayuta is largely a stonefly game – little black stones – though traditional nymph patterns and streamers can also work well. Some years, like last year, the unusual early season weather brought caddis and mayflies in abundance leading to some very good dry fly fishing.

I usually fish Cayuta Creek at least once before the opener with fly angling friend Dan, profiled here before. We’ll meet up at a pull-off, rig up with nymphs or wet flies, and fish down or up – more or less walking the length of the special regs section above the Wyncoop Creek Road bridge – catching up, commiserating, celebrating the new season, and conjecturing on what the year might bring.

We met up the weekend before the opener and Cayuta Creek did not disappoint. It was Good Friday in more ways than one! I fished my standard early season pattern – the venerable picket pin – but this time it was one of my own. I fished it as the tail fly to a weighted prince nymph and to my delight, caught a feisty brown on my third cast.

First fish on one of my own flies…

Dan and I fished the lower stretch of the creek that day and found one particular section that was loaded with hatchery browns. We caught them dead drift and on the swing with our nymphs and wet flies. Sometimes they’d even jump a fly stripped in for another cast.

I fished Cayuta the next day, this time on my own, and I did nearly as well. The sun was out and later in the day little black stoneflies were hatching with abundance. They fell like heavy snow, on and off it seemed, and would float and skitter clumsily downstream. The trout did not ignore them, rising aggressively as they sailed down the creek. Unfortunately, I was ill-equipped. I did not have anything that matched those stoneflies, though a black caddis seemed to draw the trout up for a look. A picket pin fished weightless on the swing worked pretty well, though greasing one up to make it float would most likely have been better (again, ill-equipped – no floatant on hand!).

I returned to Cayuta Creek the Friday after Opening Day. I found a very different creek on that overcast and cold day. The water was up and had a dark green stain to it, no doubt the result of snow-melt and recent rains.

A brooding looking Cayuta Creek…

I fished a nymph with a picket pin tail fly and found little success and I wondered at one point if this disturbing finding on a section of the creek that allows artificial lure use only had anything to do with it…

What fly or lure angler would use a ‘Y’ stick…

Later I decided to switch up to a streamer – a picket pin streamer tied by Dave Pelachik of JJ’s Jigs. I fished it upstream dead drift, then stripped it on the swing. Wading downstream, I swung the weighted streamer through a deep run and felt a solid whack and then the head-shakes of a good trout – one bigger than the stockie fare. After a good tussle I landed a brown in excellent condition, heavy-bodied, silvery colored, and quite possibly a wild trout from what I could tell.

A nice Cayuta brown caught on a picket pin streamer…

I fished a little more, lost another decent trout and had a few more swipes from what seemed to be stockies. At one point, a nice older gentleman stopped by to check things out. He spoke to me from roadside, across the creek and I could tell from our conversation that he was an experienced fly angler. He was new to the area, having moved from Pennsylvania and thought he’d check out Cayuta Creek. I fed him with all sorts of good information on this favorite little creek. After a while of pleasant chat, he bade me good luck and told me he’d leave a glass bead midge larva pattern he’d recently had luck with on Kettle Creek. In a way I suppose, it was my ‘little gem’ thanking me for all the praise…

Say hello to Maddy…

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.”
― Will Rogers

Will Rogers said it best: dogs are good. They live their short lives on this earth looking up to whomever walks into their lives and this goes back to early man who was looking for a guardian, hunting companion, and beast of burden.

Dogs have come a long way, all in service to man…

Dogs don’t judge; they are the very essence of unconditional love. Come home from after a bad day, depressed, tired, even angry, and though they’ve been home all alone, they come to you, tail wagging, as if Jesus Christ had just come back to earth.
Long are the tales of a dog’s absolute devotion and loyalty. Hidesamuro Ueno brought his dog, an Akita named Hachiko, to Tokyo in 1924 and every day when he left for his teaching job, Hachiko would stand by the door and watch him go. The Akita would then arrive at the local train station at 4 p.m. to meet his owner when he returned from work. Ueno later died of a stroke at work, but Hachiko continued to return to the train station every single day for the next 10 years until his death in 1935. A bronze statue stands at Shibuya Station in honor of Hachiko.

Hachiko: loyal to the end…

Then there’s Hawkeye, the Labrador retriever, that showed dogs too suffer from heartbreak. During Navy SEAL John Tumilson’s funeral, Hawkeye was seen ambling up to his owner’s coffin and then dropping to the ground with a heaving sigh.

Hawkeye grieves for his fallen owner. No greater love…

Indeed, I remember my grandmother once saying she never trusted any person who didn’t like dogs…

Up until very recently, I’d been dog-less for too long. I grew up with dogs, after all, starting with Cocker Spaniels, thanks to my grandparents who bred and showed them. Blue Bay was their kennel – home to many champions of conformation and obedience. Years later my wife and I owned Basenjis, a unique hound breed out of Africa, known to many as the ‘barkless dog’. We showed Kephas (our male) and Yodie (our female), and after finishing them as AKC Champions, they had a litter of 5 puppies. The litter pick, Blue Bay’s Violet Memory, was named in honor of my grandmother and was my way of thanking her for bringing dogs into my life. ‘Violet’ produced many champions. One of her descendents was the first black and white Basenji to win the breed at Westminster.

Kephas and Yodie passed on, as all dogs do, and we took a break from dogs. It was nice at first not having to walk a dog in the pouring rain or frigid cold, shouting under one’s breath every expletive known to man in front of ‘just go…!’, and yes, the house seemed a lot cleaner, dirty laundry left undisturbed, cherry cheesecakes not yanked off tables, etc., etc., but after a few years without panting and yodeling and all those dog antics – comic and touching – well, something was missing. My wife stood fast for a while, claiming she wanted to enjoy the house ‘chew-free’, until out of the blue, she noticed this picture in the news…

Those eyes…

The rest, as they say, is history. A week after noticing this Lab / Hound mix, we all went to see her. The bond was immediate and magical. It wasn’t another week before she was brought to us, courtesy of Every Dog’s Dream, a pet shelter in Greene, NY. Maddy wagged into our lives and where my wife saw a good walking companion, I immediately dreamed of a fly fishing friend.

Maddy…

It turns out that Maddy was one of a litter of 5 puppies born somewhere in South Carolina. The litter had been left to a high risk shelter, where dogs are often put down. Fortunately, Maddy and her litter-mates were sent north. Audrey at Every Dog’s Dream referred to Maddy as an adorable, big hearted girl who had good manners and liked being close to her humans. Our adoption proved she was more than right.

While pure-bred dogs have their place in life and certainly serve a purpose, the sheer number of homeless dogs continues to sky-rocket. Many of these dogs are real gems, such as we have found in Maddy, and all they’re looking for is a chance to warm a heart.

My plans for Maddy include lots of love and play, obedience training, and ultimately, a seat beside me on the way to flowing waters.

I know the Lab part of her breeding will win her over to water and I’ll promise her this…

“Oh the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! There are points to be scored. There are games to be won. And the magical things you can do with that ball will make you the winning-est winner of all.”
― Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

Fly Fishing Goals and World’s Most Interesting Man…

My grandfather on my father’s side was a most interesting man, but not “most interesting” in the zany way a successful Dos Equis beer ad has been running recently…

My grandfather had less hair, but the skin tone is right on…

He wasn’t known for bowling overhand, sky-diving in a kayak, or shooing a pet mountain lion from his kitchen counter, but he was most interesting in his mannerisms and the way obscure factoids on his life would pop up in conversation. There are pictures of him, for example, on his “ersten tag” (first day) in Kindergarten – in Germany that is. Mind you, he lived in Staten Island, NY, the only child in a rather wealthy family. There are pictures of him in full Ivy League raccoon coat regalia, and pictures of him standing most majestically atop some hill in Mexico, his side arm prominently displayed (he apparently had spent time with a rich Uncle in Mexico at a silver mine back in the Pancho Villa days)….

Pancho Villa – one most interesting man crosses another…

…and pictures of him in front of his freshman alma mater, RPI. He was apparently kicked out of school for being more partial to parties and other such collegiate fun than his studies.

He was a quiet man, but his mind was anything but quiet. He was both curious and fascinated by absolutely everything and when I would visit with him in his golden years, he’d frequently remark, “explain to me Robert, how do they do that?…”

One of his great quotes, in response to anything that required his time and attention, was; “I’m studying it…” Though he was definitely in the running for patron saint of procrastination, the old man was very smart and a relentless student of life which kept his mind as sharp as a razor until his dying day at the age of 95.

As covered in a post last year, I decided to re-write my fly fishing goals. My intentions were good, and sadly, I can’t even use my grandfather’s procrastination veil as an excuse. I never did publish them last year, no less re-write them, as a matter of fact. So, as promised most recently, I’ll give it another go, here:

1) Catch a lake trout on the fly – lake run or from the lake.

2) Catch one of the following saltwater game-fish on the fly: a bluefish, striped bass, or weakfish.

3) Begin fly tying – focus on perfecting three patterns, with a goal to catch fish with these patterns.

4) Float fish the Susquehanna; Campville to Owego. There’s some good water back there.

5) Practice and improve my casting distance and accuracy.  Learn to single haul and double haul.

6) Fish with friends – enjoy their company and learn new skills and places to fish.

7) Learn to tie one new fishing knot.

8) Fish for steelhead. Did it once in 2012 – do it more in 2013.

9) Fish Handsome Brook. Fish it a full day, good and hard with a lunch break at Gilligan’s Island (best burgers and ice cream around!).

10) Night fish for trout. Always wanted to do this!

Life is short. A day not fished is a day never to be fished. If I can accomplish 6 to 7 of these goals, it will be a good year, indeed. Here’s to 2013, tight lines, bent rods, and plenty of head shakes…

 

Looking back on 2012

By most accounts, 2012 was a strange year for fly fishing in the Southern Tier of NY. Local anglers I’ve talked to didn’t know what to make of the wild seasonal swings, and fishing seemed to be mixed, at least according to my journal, with phenomenal days followed by not so good outings during other parts of the year.

Thanks to a warm spell in late winter / early spring, fly fishers enjoyed great fly fishing for trout. Instead of a bone-chilling opener, anglers basked in relative warmth and fished near gin-clear water conditions. Even the pre-opening fishing on waters that were open, like parts of Cayuta Creek, shown below, was excellent.

Some anglers reported early season dry fly fishing – as early as March 7th – which is unheard of in these parts. Note the water level and clarity of the West Branch of the Tioughnioga (below) in late April! I didn’t have my fly rod when I took this picture but brown trout were actively rising to caddis, leaving me drooling…

While the trout angling got even better in April, another surprise opportunity was the smallmouth bass fishing in local rivers and streams. Rivers were at low levels thanks to the lack of snowpack. Normally, bass fishing on the larger rivers is not possible until late spring at the very best. I kept eying the “big four” in our area – the Tioughnioga, Chenango, Chemung, and Susquehanna – and watching the USGS water gauge. Even the main branch of the Susquehanna looked enticingly fishable as shown in this picture taken in late April. As a reference, the point to the left in this picture would normally be covered by 6 feet of water at this time of the year…

After reading a post by fellow fly fishing blogger, Dave Pelachik, I decided to give the Susky a try and boy was I glad I did, as detailed in a post I did soon after my trip. My only regret is not spending that entire day on the river…

Fly fishing in general was outstanding on the Catskill Rivers. The tailwaters were able to maintain flows throughout the season: the freestone Willowemoc and Beaverkill were not quite so lucky. In any case, the only ‘off’ part of the spring was the effect the weather had on the hatches. They were in some cases very strong and early and in others, such as the March Brown hatch, reported to be non-existent. But the trout were hungry. One observation I noted in my fishing is that I did not see the same proportion of rainbows to browns that I normally do, but the browns were certainly in very good health.

While the smallmouth season started out with a bang for me, late summer fishing was for some reason a bust, at least on the Susquehanna where I fish it. It got downright befuddling at times, to the point where I began to hunt the smaller Tioughnioga and upper Chenango. Interestingly, these rivers fished better than the main branch of the Susky. Noticeably absent during much of my fishing on the Susquehanna were the younger year class bass, which normally prove to be a nuisance.  These fish were present on the smaller rivers but their absence in the bigger water is a mystery to me.

The West Branch of the Delaware continued to fish well into June…

While summer fishing was slow in some ways, the largemouth bass on the pond out back of our house were ever willing to slam anything tossed their way. And the white fly hatch in early August on the Susquehanna was epic, but didn’t seem to bring out the bass for me, at least.

Saltwater fishing was also a mix. I fly fished Meyer’s Hole near Barnegat Light, NJ on the July 4th holiday, and was fortunate to run into schools of very willing shad that clobbered my clouser streamer to the point where it was nothing more than a jig with no tail feathers. These mini tarpon were a blast, leaping on every hook-up. These were 1 to 3 lb fish, but mingling among them were houndfish, a gar-like fish that on two occasions attacked my clouser streamer and ripped line as they streaked across the surface of the water like an airborne torpedo. My houndfish were not quite the size of the monster shown below (but they were a good 3 feet in length), but these are respectable game fish, and keep your hands away from the business end!

The party boat fishing was also a mixed bag. I went with my cousin Mark over that same July 4th weekend and we caught ‘cocktail’ blues on jigs. We won the pool, believe it or not, with a blue just shy of 2 lbs. We split the winngins at $65 a piece. Go figure…

Later in the year in September I fly fished the bay again with nothing to show for it – then headed out on the Miss Barnegat Light for blues and did nicely, again using jigs. These were 6 to 14 lb fish – the kind that leave your arms sore and put a big smile on your face. Anglers drifting chunk bait in the slick did better than us jiggers. The fish seemed a tad picky – unusual for the ever-hungry bluefish.

Bass fishing in late summer seemed to pick up for me. On one morning I did very well fishing the tail of a pool in the Susquehanna. I had noticed the distinctive water disturbance left by bass chasing baitfish and positioned myself to swing a white Murray’s streamer across the tailout. These fish were very aggressive and were marauding the very shallow parts of the tailout. I landed 4 very nice bass and lost 2 more before the action slowed. One fought like a snag the first few seconds, then had his way in the strong current before I lost him.

The Finger Lakes trib runs never happened unfortunately. I was ready and willing, but the rain just never came strong enough to trigger staging fish to move up the creeks. Oddly, rain did hit the Catskills late one week in October and I knew it would be the perfect set-up for streamer fishing for pre-spawn browns with attitude. I hit the West Branch of the Delaware with the river settling but still nice and murky. The streamer fishing could not have been better. 8 browns, colored up, the males with kypes and besting 18″ came to hand, with as many or more electrifying short takes including one practically a rod’s length away from me.

Striper fishing in the fall was an absolute bust thanks to Hurricane Sandy. I took a trip Thanksgiving weekend with my son, Chris, and no one on the boat caught a fish. I also caught a skunk on the Salmon River in November. The salmon were done then, and steelhead were caught, but not by this angler. Sometimes a river demands its dues before it graces your net.

It was certainly an odd year for me, book-ended by absolutely bests (early smallmouth and fall browns) and filled with some days when an angler should have stayed home and got some things done. What’s most important though is the learning and the loving of the outdoors. One often forgets a day not fished is one less day fishing.

25 years ago…

This post is not about fishing, though there were some times when I engaged in it from my beloved ship, USS Stark (FFG-31).  I remember one sailor trolling a line off the fantail shortly after we got underway. He ended up hooking a big bluefish, and suddenly found himself with a real problem as the ship cruised along at 16 knots, with no intention to stop and interrupt operations. Somehow the sailor landed it.

And then there were times in the Persian Gulf when I was standing watch as Officer of the Deck, as our Captain, an avid angler, trolled off the fantail and passed steering orders up to the bridge via the aft lookout. Patrolling the calm waters of the Gulf, we tried our best to swing his lure over breaking schools of tuna.

On warm humid evenings in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, huge tarpon would school under the waterline security lights of our ship at dock, and Chief Peebles and I took turns hooking the beasts just to feel their raw speed and brute power before they broke us off on the hull. These great gamefish would take cheese on a large treble hook, probably because the scullery discharge set up a chum slick of sorts.

The ship’s crest…

No, this post, like one before it, is about men I knew who died in the tragic attack on the ship 25 years ago: May 17, 1987. It’s about the feeling so eloquently expressed in one episode of the film, Band of Brothers, when a German general speaks to his men:

Men, it’s been a long war, it’s been a tough war. You’ve fought bravely, proudly for your country. You’re a special group. You’ve found in one another a bond that exists only in combat, among brothers. You’ve shared foxholes, held each other in dire moments. You’ve seen death and suffered together. I’m proud to have served with each and every one of you. You all deserve long and happy lives in peace.

I have known men, fished with them, witnessed the beauty of nature with them on great rivers, but never have I known them as deeply as I have when I served aboard the USS Stark.

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

It will be a tough day tomorrow…

 

Serendipity on Cayuta Creek

I’m a believer in serendipity, which I quote, as follows, from Wikipedia:

Serendipity means a “happy accident” or “pleasant surprise”; specifically, the accident of finding something good or useful without looking for it. The word has been voted one of the ten English words hardest to translate in June 2004 by a British translation company.

Just so happens I found it along Cayuta Creek, a favorite trout fishery of mine and one that has been profiled here before. I had stopped by on a recent Friday evening for a bit of after-work fly fishing and as usual, the “little gem” did not disappoint…

One of many Cayuta browns that couldn't resist a picket pin streamer...

Fishing one particular stretch that evening, I quickly got into quite a few brown trout – a mix of stocked fish and holdovers. My peaceful 2 hour interlude was interrupted only once by a spin fisherman whose pick-up came to an abrupt stop, with a roar of its exhaust, near where I was fishing. He climbed out of his burly red truck, rappelled down the creek bank, simply outfitted with spinning rod, sunglasses and cigarette, and briefly stopped to ask how I’d done. He then walked downstream, casting his spinner from the bank in rapid-fire fashion. After just a half-dozen casts, he dashed upstream and out of sight.

I found the trout willing to dance with a Picket Pin streamer that had been sent a few weeks earlier, gratis, courtesy of Dave Pelachik of JJ’s Jigs. All it took to produce that magical buttery brown flash of a trout from the greenish depths of the pool was a cast across and upstream followed by a mend to get the fly deep and a few short strips on the swing. There were more short takes than I could count, but for a good while, this tactic produced a number of stockies along with several nice fish. Later, clouds of midges or tiny olives – I’m not sure which -  started hatching, with a few caddis interspersed, and the game changed. On went a Picket Pin wet and Godfather (pheasant tail) emerger. One out of every three or four casts was followed by classic staccato grabs on the swing that every wet fly fisherman dreams of in the depths of winter.

The fishing that evening was so enjoyable, I couldn’t resist another shot the following day. With my wife up in Rochester tending to my collegiate daughter, I figure I’d enjoy another day of the relative solitude that pre-opener fishing brings. I drove west from my home that Saturday and then north in the mid-morning overcast, belly full with the contents of the oh-so-good / oh-so-unhealthy Sausage Egg McMuffin I’d picked up along the way. It was another cool and damp day with spritzes of rain thrown in for good measure.

Driving along the length of Cayuta Creek, I saw only a few cars parked bank-side. But once I reached the special regs section above Van Etten, I noticed a somewhat familiar car in the exact spot I had parked the evening before. The tall gangly figure walking upstream along the road quickly confirmed my suspicions; it was none other than my long-lost fishing pal and former coworker, Dan…

I caught up to him in my car, practically squeezed him off the road, and extended a hearty hello. After parking, Dan patiently waited while I strung up – something I pointed out to him with emphasis since most times he’d be thigh deep in the creek before I’d barely donned my waders.

We fished the same run I’d fished the night before, then walked upstream to a favorite riffle below the bridge pool and fished the creek back down to where we parked, all the while catching up on goings on, re-telling old war stories, and enjoying the willing participation of the creek’s enthusiastic browns. I asked Dan why he hadn’t sent more flies to me, good tyer that he is, and he countered back about not getting him a ticket to the Al Hazzard TU banquet. Through it all, we both seemed at a loss to pinpoint exactly how long it had been since we last shared a day on the water.

Looking downstream on the "Little Gem".

I came that day not looking for anything but some quiet time fly fishing a special little creek, but as happens every once in a while in life, I found something else. As we worked one particularly deep hole, Dan mentioned the sudden passing of some former coworkers, and I could tell it was really bothering him. Interestingly, I too had just gotten word of a colleague from my past who had died at a still relatively young age. We talked about it and continued to fish, but maybe in the silence of each cast, we pondered our own tentative place on this good earth. Our banter picked up after that, as did the sharing of more good memories and the promise of more time on the water in each others company.

We fished every part of the creek on our way to where we parked. After climbing out of the creek and breaking down my gear at the car, all I could think of was a passage from T.S. Elliot’s poem, Little Gidding:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

It’s one thing to call up a friend and arrange a day of fly fishing, but quite another to arrive at the same place and pick up as if it had been thoroughly planned in advance. Serendipity is a good friend, indeed, and one I will cherish as long as I can wade a beautiful piece of water and cast a fly…

There’s no bad weather, only bad clothing…

Blogging is a mostly lonely business. One slouches over the computer terminal in the oft bleary-eyed hours of the morning, and pounds out strings of words that on occasion resonate with a few other souls out there. A few write comments, an occasional inquiry or curiosity gets sent my way, and a few keep in touch, in response. But for the most part, it’s a solitary affair, not too different from standing butt deep in a river on an otherwise dreary day, casting, casting, casting…

So imagine my surprise when out of the bloggy depths comes a friendly email with an offer. It’s from a group that searched the internet blindly, happened to find me, and wanted to know if I would review their product – not just any product – no Acme lead-free split-shot, or arctic lip balm – no, no, no – I’m talking honest-to-goodness cold weather undergarments, real merino wool…

Now, I must admit, I’ve never been much into dressing for cold weather. I remember reading about layering in my trusty Boy Scout Handbook and wearing the classic cotton long johns under cotton jeans for the infamous “Klondike Derby” camping trip (and wondering why I was still cold), but I never really understood how important it is to dress right and that in doing so, one could be pretty comfortable in down-right miserable weather. I’d just assumed being cold was part of fishing. I rejoiced when the big opener was mild and grin and bear it when winter wasn’t about to yield to April…

My intro to layering, circa 1970

So this email from a company by the name of RedRam was quite the blessing. It woke me up to something the Scandinavians have known and lived – that there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing. The modern fly fisher’s corollary would be, learn how to dress for the weather and you’ll never spend a bad day on the water, comfort-wise at least. And while we’re on that topic, I’ll shamelessly recommend the following series of posts at my Examiner site to my fly fishing coterie on dressing for cold weather: part 1, part 2, part 3, and part 4 – all evidence of the fact that I now take this subject seriously.

Before I received the product samples, I hastily read up on the company supplying me with what would turn out to be the equivalent of cold weather manna. RedRam is a division of a New Zealand company known as Icebreaker, which pioneered the merino outdoor clothing category way back in 1994. It all started when our story’s hero, Jeremy Moon, was introduced by an American girlfriend to Brian Brackenridge, a merino sheep farmer she’d stayed with while hitchhiking around New Zealand. Brian showed Jeremy a prototype thermal tee-shirt made from 100% merino wool. Moon, was impressed…

“It felt soft and sensual, looked lustrous and was totally natural. It was nothing like the wool I had grown up with, which was heavy and scratchy. And you could throw this stuff in the washing machine.”

Moon saw opportunity in a market of synthetic fibers and decided to challenge it by making natural performance garments.  Synthetics dominated the outdoor clothing market at the time. “Don’t talk to me about wool. Wool is dead,” a buyer reportedly told Jeremy on his first sales call. And so, his company, to be named “Icebreaker”, invented the world’s first merino layering system, and was also the first outdoor apparel company to source merino directly and ethically from the growers.

A Merino Ram - company spokes-sheep straight from the Southern Alps of New Zealand.

So going along the theory that science and chemistry make life better, why buy merino? Well, it seems that mother nature has a habit of “bringing it” to modern science on occasion. Merino sheep, it turns out, have a bit of an edge in terms of “time in the field”. The breed dates back to the 12th century, when merino sheep arrived in Spain where the line was cultivated and refined. Merino thrived in Spain, becoming a prized royal flock whose wool was widely used in soldiers’ uniforms and as a mark of wealth and privilege in luxury clothing. By the 18th century, merino wool was a precious commodity, coveted throughout Europe like gold. In 1765, King Carlos III of Spain presented a select flock of his rare sheep to the German Elector of Saxony, thus beginning the spread of merino throughout the world.

Merinos  that supply their wooly shearing to RedRam and Icebreaker spend their days roaming high in the spacious Southern Alps of New Zealand. Their coats can handle all extremes of weather – from subzero temperatures in winter to scorching 90+ degree days in summer. And since merino wool is 100% natural, the product of grass, water and sunshine, and also renewable and biodegradable, it helps assure that blockage of the Straits of Hormuz, world domination by Dr. Evil, and other potential disasters, won’t interfere with our desire for comfort in the elements.

"Throw me some freakin merino wool..." Surely Dr. Evil's cat, Mr. Bigglesworth, could stand some warmth...

Merino sheep are shorn each year – then return to the mountains to grow more “underwear”. Unlike cotton and synthetics, they use very low-energy production processes. The garments that use this silky smooth, super light wool provide the warmth of a heavy sweater without any of the bulk, mainly because of merino’s finely crimped fibers, which create millions of air pockets to capture body heat. And no matter how active you get when wearing merino wool, it won’t get smelly. Synthetic fibers have a reputation to stink from sweat but Merino is far more efficient at releasing sweat and moisture.

My product was shipped to me neatly boxed and feather light, so light, in fact, that I wondered if the packer had forgotten to pack the stuff, and then, upon finding the individual packages, if this wool could possibly be all it was claimed to be. It was soft, smooth, and light-weight, and oddly, almost cool to the touch. I found the distinctive red tag, and sure enough, the bold “PURE MERINO WOOL” claim beneath the brand…

 

You'll look almost as good as you feel with RedRam undergarments on. They tend to have a slimming effect - heck, I lost 10 pounds with one wearing...

RedRam undergarments are available in a number of different styles and different colors. I was sent the tank top, long-sleeved top, long-sleeve zip top, and the leggings, but boxers and a short sleeve top can also be purchased.

I wore my RedRam undergarments on a number of fly fishing trips, ranging from several outings on beautiful Salmon Creek in Ithaca, NY, in the fall, to a day-long outing fly fishing for steelhead on the famed Salmon River in early December. Weather ranged from frigidly cold mornings – you know, the kind where you have to strip the ice from your guides on almost every cast – to pleasantly cool fall afternoons  and absolutely miserable wet and cold conditions.

Looking upstream on Salmon Creek, home to spawning Landlocked Salmon from Cayuga Lake...

In all cases, I never found myself uncomfortable – not from the scratchy / itchy feeling that wool has a reputation for, nor from being cold. In every case, I did find I didn’t have to layer as much as I originally thought and ended up peeling off layers as movement and/or daylight generated warmth. As thin as the product appears, be careful to not over-layer as this product not only wicks but insulates as well. I also found RedRam’s claim regarding merino wool’s ability to be odorless, even after a day of rigorous wading, to be spot on.

But these undergarments, as stated by RedRam, are truly “EVERYDAY WEAR”. They can be worn just as easily in the office as they can as a baselayer for rugged outdoor conditions.

I plan on adding to my inventory of this great product – more leggings, the boxers, and more of the zip-top which is great for dumping extra heat when the need is there. I also plan on trying the short-sleeve top in summer conditions. I’m curious how this great product’s claims stack up to a hot day wading the Susquehanna for smallmouth bass…

Stay tuned and tight lines…

2012 Goals

The phrase “time flies” may be cliche, but time, it seems, truly does have wings, and even more-so, accelerates like the dive of a falcon as one gets older. On the eve of my 50th birthday, I recall my mother telling me, “if you think 50 seems old, wait until your oldest child turns 50″. Time’s march is indeed, relentless.

So here we are at the start of 2012 – another year and one in its infancy. And the exciting thing about that is that no matter how old one might be, we all get to plunge into it with a clean slate. I recall a New Year’s party scene from the movie Forrest Gump where a blonde bimbo enthusiastically whispers in Forrest’s ear; “don’t you just love New Year’s – you get another chance to start all over again”…

...another chance to start all over again...

In my own life, I start every year much the same – spending New Years Day in “seclusion” – or as some in my family would say – in my “cone of silence”…

Goal setting the Get Smart way...

Free from distractions, I once again eagerly put pen to paper to plan out the year. At least some of that planning is related to fly fishing. The end result is a bucket list of goals.

Way back in 2010, under the magical qualities of a rather high quality dry gin martini, I had enough chutzpah to actually publish those goals. Revisiting them has been more than humbling, to wit:

1) Purchase and set up an 8 weight fly fishing rig (fly rod / reel / line) for Finger Lake and Great Lakes tribs. Accomplished thanks to the fine folks at JP Ross Fly Rods in Utica, NY!

2) Catch the following “firsts” on the fly; a steelhead, lake trout, and a bluefish, striped bass, or weakfish. I did catch several steelhead on a guided outing with NY State Fly Fishing Guide Loren Williams (a post on this trip is forthcoming), however, none of the other species have been caught to date…

3) Begin fly tying – focus on the Picket Pin, Wooly Bugger, and Egg and Worm Patterns. Not even close…

4) Float fish the Susquehanna; a) Binghamton to Vestal Park, b) Vestal Park to Campville, and c) Campville to Owego. I’ve yet to float the river again since Kelly’s Excellent Canoe Adventure. I should get a “pass” on this goal for 2011, given the high river levels in general and the flooding that wiped out the fall smallmouth bass fishing…

5) Practice and improve my casting distance and accuracy.  Learn to single haul and double haul. A zippo…

6) Purchase my PA fishing license and explore, fish, and learn PA creeks and rivers. I did purchase the “pee-yay” license in 2010 and did some trout fishing on a few creeks such as the Loyalsock, Muncy, and the South Branch of the Tunkhannock.

7) Learn and use the following knots:  Non-Slip Mono Knot, Palomar Knot, Improved Turtle Knot, and Perfection Loop.  Learn to tie my own leaders. I have mastered the Non-Slip Mono Knot and Perfection Loop, but need to work on the others…

Overall, a lackluster accounting, and no wonder, as 2011 was not a great year for the Southern Tier Fly Fisher. As will be covered in a future post looking back on the year, water was actually a problem much of the year. Precipitation plagued the region: we ended with close to double the norm for the year.

So what’s a fly fisher to do?

Option 1 – Delete the 2010 goals post.

Option 2 – Forget goals altogether.

Option 3 – Forget 2010 and 2011, rewrite my goals for 2012, and get back in the water.

I noodled these questions with every swill of Hendricks gin and decided to consult literature on the subject. I found a myriad of advice on the internet, and all of it, through the ages, suggested Option 3. Here’s just a sampling:

“We aim above the mark to hit the mark.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

“My philosophy of life is that if we make up our mind what we are going to make of our lives, then work hard toward that goal, we never lose – somehow we win out.” Ronald Reagan

“Lee Wulff was born in Valdez, Alaska on February 10, 1905 and began fishing almost as soon as he could walk. During the rest of his life, until the final day, April 29, 1991, when he died at the controls of his Super Cub airplane, Lee furiously and fearlessly pursued lofty goals in conservation, innovative fly fishing techniques and tackle, habitat protection and fisheries management.” On the life of Lee Wulff…

As a special challenge, I recently set myself the goal of catching an Atlantic salmon of ten pounds or over on a #28 hook… Lee Wulff

“Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what’s a heaven for?” Robert Browning

“Without some goal and some effort to reach it, no man can live.” Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

“In philosophy, it is not the attainment of the goal that matters, it is the things that are met with by the way.”Henry Havelock Ellis

“Hitch your wagon to a star.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

“I respect the man who knows distinctly what he wishes. The greater part of all mischief in the world arises from the fact that men do not sufficiently understand their own aims. They have undertaken to build a tower, and spend no more labor on the foundation than would be necessary to erect a hut.”John Wolfgang von Goethe

“If one advances confidently in the direction of his own dreams and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” Henry David Thoreau

“Begin with the end in mind.” Stephen Covey

“First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do.” Epictetus

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning. T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding

Every man should be born again on the first day of January.  Start with a fresh page.  Take up one hole more in the buckle if necessary, or let down one, according to circumstances; but on the first of January let every man gird himself once more, with his face to the front, and take no interest in the things that were and are past.  ~Henry Ward Beecher

And so, fellow anglers, I have decided to re-write my goals – possibly pare them down a bit, removing those that occupy that space beyond possibility, replacing them with other goals just within reach. I’ll take those trout rising a little closer and leave the big boys for later on, when my cast is stronger.  You’ll see what I’m talking about just around the bend…

Mankind is our business…

My kids roll their eyes when I break out “A Christmas Carol” this time of year. I do it because it’s a favorite story of mine and one in which Dickens does a superb job relaying what the season should be all about: “keeping” Christmas in our lives. And he ends the story with a message of hope and redemption – that if we have not kept Christmas, it is never too late.

I read once that Dickens was inspired to write the story after a bout of writer’s block. Mounting debts and financial pressures were bearing down on him, so he began to walk the streets of London at night, hoping to break his spell. Some of these walks took him through poor  areas of London where he began to witness the dark side of poverty, and worse yet, children forced to work in horrid conditions. These experiences led to the story, “A Christmas Carol”.

Perhaps the most important line in the story comes about as Scrooge is confronted with the ghost of his long-time business partner, Jacob Marley. The ghost bemoans his past as a mortal to which Scrooge replies, “But you were always a good man of business, Jacob”. The response is arguably the best line in the story:

“Business!” cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”

"Mankind was my business..."

Sobering, Marleys’ words are. How often, in our own eagerness to seek the relaxation and pleasure of angling a-stream, have we not kept Christmas? How often have we helped the community-at-large in some way beyond our own wants? Have we ever taken a kid or adult – someone in need – to the beautiful places we fish? Have we been kind to fellow anglers, considerate to others, and patient? How have we used the wonder of fly fishing to better the world? Have we “kept” Christmas in our angling, and beyond that, in our lives, and if not in the past, can we commit to it in the future?

So, fellow flyfishers, I urge each of you to pick up “A Christmas Carol”. Draw up near the fireplace, book in hand, and drink of its wisdom. Then carry it with you this year – grace each river and stream you cross with it. Be truly, a better angler…

Merry Christmas and God Bless Us, Every One!

Been a while…again

I suppose we, who maddeningly wing words into the great blogosphere, looking for connection beyond the everyday chatter in the world, must all have our pauses. In my case, it’s been a few months, longer than I’ve ever been “off air”. Sometimes pure exhaustion causes it; as any blogger will tell another not smitten with the love of words – it’s good to quiet the pen on occasion and listen, or as the great Stephen Covey would say – we must all take time to “sharpen the saw”. But sometimes too, it’s the non-abating demands of the world.

Such is my case most recently. If blogging paid – and I am told it can, and I pray, someday will – I could become a slave to the page and pile it on the readership. Unfortunately that is not the case now. Bread must be put on the table, children with collegiate appetites must be sent off to study, and taxes incessantly knock.

In these days of constant economic upheaval, the reality is that one must always keep one step ahead of the corporate grim reaper. Gone are the days of a job for life. Roosting on the telephone wires that line the road to financial security and carefree retirement are not songbirds of prosperity, but crows, even vultures, waiting for one to stumble and become carrion of the American Dream. Ironically, this very place – the Southern Tier of New York – practically invented the idea of lifetime job security. Here, in what was once known as “The Valley of Opportunity”, icons of corporate benevolence were born. They built great enterprises that employed thousands, housed them in low-priced and easily financed homes, cared for them with company hospitals, threw parades for them, gave free concerts, and built carousels that are free to the public even to this day…

Ahhh, for want of the good ole days…

So, in short, I left my last place of employ, looking for greater opportunity – to state it in a way as to not offend the corporate world. I found it in Ithaca – home of, well, a different way of thinking. I joined a small company that has a bright future. It’s good there, and it seems for now at least, the songbirds of prosperity are back to roost along my path…

It’s a long commute – 50 minutes to an hour – slightly better when I’m flying low. But oh, what a commute…

The East Branch of Owego Creek just below Richford.

Along the route babbles Owego Creek, a good trout fishery that is stocked but is also home to holdovers. In the main stem there are some big browns on occasion – in the upper reaches where it splits, more browns and native brook trout. It flows from hamlets like Harford Mills and Caroline, and is nurtured from step-across size as it winds through state forest, to a good wade size as it joins the Susquehanna River in Owego.

Not far from my commuting path are Nanticoke Creek and Catatonk Creek. I cross the upper section of Fall Creek as I near my destination in Ithaca – another good trout fishery. And from this new perch of mine, I have access to watersheds I’ve barely fished. Cayuga Lake practically laps at my feet now and the lower section of Fall Creek, known for its fall run of landlocks and browns and a lesser run of rainbows in spring, is just 5 minutes away. And if I want to take a more westerly route home, there’s Buttermilk Falls, through which Buttermilk Creek passes on its way to Cayuga Lake, and a little farther south and west, wonderful Cayuta Creek.

Buttermilk Falls, near Ithaca. The falls are formed by Buttermilk Creek as it cuts through rock on its way to Cayuga Lake. Over thousands of years, the creek has formed deep plunge pools that are home to some very nice brown trout.

So far the change is good. We all need change in life to shake things up – knock the ordinary out and bring in the new. The long break from my last post has hopefully also served to recharge my writing batteries. We shall see, I guess…

Tight Lines…