Father's Day Fun

A big shout-out to all of the fathers out there. Happy Father's Day, y'all. And a big "tight lines" to the pescadores among them.

My wife and beautiful daughters and I had a chance to go to Ruth's T-Ball game yesterday. Eva had a bit of a hard time, but it was neat to watch Ruth interact and learn the basic mechanics of baseball. Also, there was a runoff ditch nearby and Eva kept pointing at it saying, "I wanna go fishy." Atta girl.

I worked for a few hours and visited two pest visits and a termite sales call, then came home knowing everyone wanted to go out to the lake. Since my daughter had shared with me the secret that they had gotten me a gift card to Bass Pro, I asked my wife if I could use it to get her a fishing license so she can fish with me. She lit up and said that was so sweet.

Yes it was. The girls played in the rocks, mud, and water while my wife caught her first fish on the fly. Pictures to follow.

I love my wife and daughters.

The Stealth Bomber

I think I want to give the Stealth Bomber a try. Anyone got any pointers?

 

Here's the full .pdf blueprint, complete with template.

Youngman Lake

Found at 192nd and West Dodge, Lawrence Youngman lake rests in a bowl behind a sandpit and across the street from the new Women's Hospital here in Omaha.

With more salad in the water than Golden Corral, it was a complete and utter disappointment... again.

Until I started catching 9" bluegill. Then had one of them eaten off my line by a catfish.

I arrived a little before eight with a group of guys from Church. The building was occupied and the group didn't play B-Ball, so I suggested we fish instead. My physicist and astronomer friend Vincent, quoted in this Wikipedia article (Cool!), reported that the weeds were bad. We got our lines wet for a while, moved around, more people showed up... went to the fishing dock. Nothing. Squat. Zilch.

By the way, wind speeds were constantly 20-25 mph with gusts at higher.

Moved up the shore to a protected cove. Caught a small largemouth (didn't get skunked, yay!) Vincent and my friend John came up and followed. No luck.

"A bad day at Cunningham is better than a good day at Youngman," John said. "I'm outta here."

And he was.

"You taking off, too?" I asked Vincent. He was. Not catching anything, so why stay?

I was of the same mind, but I'm also thoroughly competitive, so when mother nature throws me a curve, I swing different. I made up my mind, though. One more spot, then I was done.

I'll never forget that spot.

Rabbit-tail Eyelash Yarn Leech on the line, and I'm landing it gently along some rings that are popping up here and there around a break in the weeds. First bluegill is about 4". Not bad, nice little fighter.

Next one was 8".

Then 9". My blood was really pumping.

Next one was about 7". These are the biggest bluegills I had ever caught! At this point I snapped a picture with my stupid camera so that y'all would believe me.

 

I didn't take any other pictures, because I had my stupid camera, not my good one. But a couple of fish later, I put my fly in a large furl near the weeds, and hooked a gill, only to have the furl suddenly turn and thrash its nearly 3 ft. body and snap the fish off my line. 

I almost pottied on myself.

Last fish of the night was a 12" crappie. Hit my size 2 leech. Note to self: the Gammy B10S#2 is definitely  not a very good hook for the Boa Yarn or Mohair Leech pattern. 

Ok, so Youngman... you gained some serious points in my book. Now, where do I get the money to get my wife a license? And a kayak?

My butt can take better pictures than my iPad

For real.

Notice the graininess. The pixels. The grittiness.

Three leeches and two soft hackles.

Ugh.

The awesome thing about this picture is that it shows five more flies that I tied tonight as my wife headed home from hanging out with a friend. I wanted to try a brown chenille/olive hackle Softy so I tied two, then I tried three leech variations with some of the material Jim Smith sent me.

Obviously, some of those are better than others. I'm better at working hackles now, which has been a real struggle for me.

I am looking forward to watching that lower left leech perform especially.

Now, where to get some beads for heads... there's got to be something around this house with a bunch of metal beads on it that nobody wants...

Hey Guys, Look What I Tied!

TGCB 1

TGCB 2

A great, big, huge thank-you goes out to Jim Smith at FAOL for contributing so many cool looking materials and hooks to my growing collection of fly-tying materials.

When I checked in with him about what to tie, he mentioned a few patterns, but the Soft Hackle was probably the most intriguing, because of the mighty carp and John Montana's many adventures with them. I really wanted to try a weighted head, so I found some chain bead in the light from upstairs and found it quite excellent. (My wife asked last night, "What happened to the pull string?" I let her know I trimmed it. It definitely got put to good use!)

The first two pictures I what I like to call the TGCB (Tony Gardner Carp Buster). Now, will it bust carp? Who the heck knows, but just as Po's adopted father says, "There is no secret ingredient. You just have to believe it's special!"

And then there's this little dandy.

The Cape Nodge

This was my lame-as-a-three-legged-horse attempt at a weighted-eye hackle-less Woolly Bugger.

I called my four year old out of her room and asked her what the soft hackle looked like. She said, "Oh, a bug."

Then I asked her what the brown one looks like. She said, "Ummm... a mouse, or... it's a cape nodge!"

"A cape nodge? What's a cape nodge?"

"Hm... it's a fly you fish with."

"Oh. Well I think I'm going to call it that! The Cape Nodge."

"Yeah!" she said.

Good times. Can't wait to bust some carp.

By the way, anybody tried to tie any variations on Price's Raton?

Stab Wounds While Fishing

(Caution: some narration in this account may be graphic.)


As part of my chill-out time today during work - aka the lunch break - I decided to take my boss' advice and park at a shady area to relax for 30 minutes. It just so happened that shady area was on a lake. Carter lake, to be precise. Being very low, mossy and fully of water millfoil, it wasn't very attractive. But hey, it was a lake.

I had just completed a bed-bug inspection on a home very nearby and was getting ready to do some ride-alongs with my boss.

I thought I would just stare at the water and enjoy the air conditioning while dinking around with my iPad. I pulled up and another gentleman had a couple of catfish lines in the water. I put my car into park, convinced he catfishing gentleman was really just bathing his hot dog in a bunch of seaweed for a couple of hours.

Then the water moved.

If you haven't read John Montana's Carp on the Fly, you should. The fish he is constantly holding up, and the descriptions that accompany them haunt you any time you are near water where grass carp might be milling around in the depths. I still had 25 minutes, so I hopped out, strung up and tied one on. (Of course, I follow strict rules about fishing while at lunch so as not to misrepresent myself or my employer, including wearing my vest to cover my logo. Don't be that guy who doesn't do that.)

"Caught anything?" I asked the gentleman as I pulled line through the stripping guides. My boots crunched clods of clay as I made my way to the rocky shore.

"Nah, I just got here."

I got everything set and started fishing the water. I dropped an egg sucking leach about eight feet from shore with very slow action, and an approximately 14" carp came up and hit it on the surface. I couldn't believe my eyes, and my heart took a leap.

Missed the hookset. Tunnel vision immediately set in.

I put the leech right back where it was, and the carp took it again. It was a rich, golden color with a bright white mouth. This time, I made the hookset, but the s.o.g. buried his nose in the silt trying to run.

You know why I knew he had a bright white mouth? Because it flashed right as he spit out my fly. It was like he had chosen me, then thrown me out like the garbage.

I cast a few more times as I let my adrenaline drop again.

"What are you fishing for?" I asked the gentleman, once again aware of my surroundings.

"Catfish. I'm using hotdogs."

"Oh. Well, try them pretty shallow. Seems to be working."

He reeled in and adjusted them while I pulled in a fingerling bass and two sunfish.

"Yeah, I just buried my nephew, and he loved to fish, so I figured I would come out and fish," the man said.

My heart sank for him. My attention was riveted. The remnants of my tunnel vision immediately dissipated.

"May I ask how he passed?" I ventured.

"Stabbed. Right in the heart." the man said, as he sat in his lawn chair with his poles. A few moments passed.

"I'm sorry to hear that." I was maybe twenty feet away, fishing a clearing in the millfoil.

"Yeah, and boy, heh, when it rains it pours. I just got a phone call after setting up here that my 102 year old grandmother probably won't live through the day. So, I figured I would do something relaxing."

Only three seconds passed.

"I'm sorry about your grandmother and your nephew."

"Well, that's life, you know... my nephew, he loved to fish. Always tryin' to help somebody, and some guy had to go and stab him right through the heart with a Rambo knife. He never had a chance. Bled out on the table."

"That must have been terrible to go through for you."

Silence settled again. The wind picked up, but it was at my back, so casts were still steady. But, I didn't want to be late, and had been party to enough. It honesty felt like the man felt better talking to somebody. And maybe I'm crazy, but I felt better after listening. I felt I should have said more.

Before going to that lake, I had been thinking about my earlier mistakes that day: comments and things that I had said, or silly mistakes at work that were getting me down. I had been praying for some help to come out of it with strength beyond my own.

Then it was like, boom. Everything came back to perspective for me with one simple sentence, with someone I didn't know, the wind at our backs, relishing something that the living and the dead both fondly enjoy.

Whoever it was that stabbed this guy's nephew had stabbed him, too, just in another way.

Before I left, I told him I believed we will see those who pass away again. He shared the belief. I offered a visit from some folks to share a message, and he politely declined. I wished him a good time fishing, even if there was nothing I could do to wish him a good day.

As I drove off, I saw him reading his scriptures, sitting in his lawn chair with his pole, trying to heal. Stab wounds don't go away very easily.

Lots of work, family, scripture and some night-time fishing.

Man! It has been quite a while since I've thrown something up on my blog.

Not that I've thrown up. You know what I mean.

I have been hitting it hard at work and at home and everything... drawing myself out a little too much, playing mind games with myself about my own abilities and things. But its getting better, thanks to a loving, patient, dedicated wife, great kids, good scripture and some fishing trips.

This past Sunday, we went up to my mother's farm to prepare and stake out a campsite on their farm away from it all. I dug and installed a fire pit, as well as mowed. I had an opportunity to hang out that was much needed. All worth the amount of sun and calories.

Tonight, after my wife gets home from Church, I'm going to go try some dusk/night fishing for bass, blues and cats. I hope to have some great pictures! Stay tuned.