You know where they don’t have Whataburger?

Russia.

Freakin’ Russians, that’s what they got there.

Vodka.

That’s what I say.

Roy and Molly were a fun couple.  We fished together exactly four years ago today.  The two were avid anglers who had just decided to try fly fishing.  Usually, they spent their time night fishing for bass, taking advantage of the cooler night time temperatures and lack of crowds on the water.  Neither of them had ever caught a fish with a fly rod.

Anyway, Roy bought a raffle ticket at Fly Fish Texas in March at the Texas Freshwater Fisheries Center.  He wanted to win an Orvis 5 weight that was up for grabs.  I had offered a guided carp trip for the raffle.  Roy told Molly: “If I win anything, it’ll probably be that guided carp trip (snort).” 

When the phone rang at their house that evening, Molly answered, and called Roy over her laughter:  “You’ll never guess who it is!”

The two were extremely good sports and they took me up on the trip.  We chatted in advance and I gave them some advice to go catch some panfish to get used to the fly rods and then we’d give it a shot when the weather warmed up and the sun stayed high in the sky.

Although neither of them landed a carp that day, they both got the experience of stalking and spotting, and they both got to see a fish eat their fly.  Molly got an eat from a carp, and in Roy’s case, a drum picked up his fly– and dropped it again– four times while he was trying to untangle the fly line from his feet.

I ran into Roy and Molly at Fly Fish Texas again in 2008, and Roy handed me a business card.  It turns out, he had become the Mayor of the town he lived in.  I instantly knew he’d make a great Mayor, because he was a genuinely friendly and upstanding man.  I had to point out, though, that I’d never heard of the town on his business card.

“That’s OK,” he said, “that’s not even the town I’m mayor of, that’s just the town with the nearest post office!”

We have all seen thousands of hero shots, the standard grip-and-grin, front cover of a magazine shot.  And, most of us are tired of them, unless there is something truly special about the picture– a guy with no arms and a grander marlin in his lap, a 5 year old girl hugging a fish twice her size.

As a guy who likes to take people out to catch their first carp, I’ve taken plenty of hero shots, and, you’ll see them on this blog from time to time.  However, my favorite shots these days are release shots– or other handling shots.  The release shot definitely has the most artistic potential, but some of the other snaps that come along the way do the best job at telling the whole story.

I just recently started a new job, and on the very last day of freedom my wife and I went to the lake to pole a flat for spotted gar.  The water was screwed up and we couldn’t see them, and as a last ditch attempt I decided to give the longnose gar a quick looking after.  My wife doesn’t like messing with fish bigger than a pound or two because they scare her, so I felt no guilt at all lunging for the 10 weight when I spotted the fish laid up and happy.

I handed her the camera before I boated the fish, because I just don’t get to catch a whole lot of longnose.  I expected to get a quick grip and grin before letting it go.  I honestly had no idea that she took pictures of the whole process though, until I downloaded them from my camera a few days later. 

History Lesson:

Texas Fly Report was shut down this week.  The proprietor, Alex, (see: Redemption) created the site in 2002 as a programming hobby, and most of the initial members came to the site from a now defunct Yahoo Group called Texas Warm Water Fly Fishers.

I knew Lane from the Yahoo Group and some of the outings we had, so he was a familiar name at TFR along with about 20-30 others.  I believe that Lane and I met around April of 2000 at an outing on the Brazos river near Glen Rose, TX.

This picture of Lane hooked up with his first carp is in direct result of those online communities and their friendships:

If you’d ever been to trashonthefly before I turned it into a blog, it’s a familiar picture.  Just looking at it makes me smile.  Lane was my test client– my first attempt to show someone else how to stalk and catch a carp.  It was May 24, 2004, and a lot has changed since then, but the memories remain the same.

When I got home from that trip, and while Lane was back on the road towards home, I posted the following message on Texas Fly Report–

Went fishing today with Lane (No-Tye-Much) and I don’t know if he’ll say anything so I’m spilling the beans, today he caught his first fly rod carp while targeting carp specifically. No bait, chum, or scent, just good old-fashioned sight fishing for spooky critters.

He said he hardly remembers the first few seconds but let me tell you the man can put some heat on a fish. When it ate the fly and promptly bolted for the log 4 feet away he whisked it– no I should say pounded it– out of danger immediately to where he had some fighting room.

The fish went 3 pounds which in a lot of ways is the perfect sized carp, the smaller ones fight fast and dirty. (Not to be misunderstood, a 6 pound carp fights like a train and bigger carp are real bulldogs– they do not “slow down” with old age)

We got a couple of beautiful pics which I’m sure Lane will be sharing with us later. Lane also took a rare pic of me with a carp as well, usually I’m solo because most people think I’m crazy for beating my head over the fish and walking banks for hours, straining my eyes and drinking hot water, walking through fire ant mounds and thistles:

What’d I forget, Lane? I won’t mention that one embarrassing moment involving you, the snake, the girl on the jetski and cowpoop.

I still distinctly remember Lane casting to that fish.  He was absolutely predatory with that fly rod, something I often wish other anglers could get a whiff of.  There was no hesitation after I pointed the carp– the fly was in front of that fish and now.

Big-Ass might have been a little tongue in cheek, but the fish gave him a great fight and it was mission accomplished.  Thanks for the memory, Lane.

Zach is a fashion beast.  Oh, the fitover-style sunglasses are mine, to be sure– in case of polarization emergencies.  The baseball hat as well.  But only Zach can turn a borrowed hat and a spare t-shirt into serious flats stalking gear.

His fish was also sporting something from the Fall 2008 line:  the Carp Gagger fly.  It’s nothing much, really, and it did the trick.

I was cruising along on my way to a virgin flat when I noticed some small pops on the glassy surface.  I took a harder look and cut the motor without bothering to throttle down first.  By the time the boat came off plane I was already reaching into a rod locker and within seconds I was casting into the fish.  The pods were spread out over 30 acres or more, and I watched them group up and run down bait then branch off into separate smaller groups only to rejoin time and again.  It was like watching large raindrops come down a windshield, forming trickles that break up by the impact of another large drop.

After about an hour of trying to cut off trickles of menacing shad death with the boat I realized that my count was going to have to be verified.  I had 20 fish in the cooler.  Now things were starting to get interesting.  I was five fish from a sandbass limit.

I sometimes get goal oriented while fishing, and I started to wonder if I would jinx my luck by wishing for a limit.  25 fish would make us roughly 4-6 meals of assorted fish tacos or curry.  Meanwhile, the pods were building speed and the groups were getting larger, so it was harder to keep up with them and I was running into factions of 10-15 fish less frequently.

The wind suddenly blew out of the north and the water went to a ripple and the fish stopped blitzing all together.  During that time I was able to put three more fish in the cooler and release a couple of “unders.”  Putting around, I could see the fish on the graph but they’d moved down to the 10-15 foot range and most of them had started suspending.  If I really wanted to finish a limit, and if I hurried before they completely turned off until the evening, I’d have to break out the lead core and fish deep.  I considered it for a minute.  I’ve never kept a limit of sandbass, and it would be interesting to complete the deal on flies.  After about 3 tenths of a second, though, I realized I didn’t have lead core in the boat and I didn’t want to turn what had been a lucky diversion into work.

It was time to hunt carp, and I had one quick stop to make before the main destination.  Within minutes of dropping the trolling motor and cruising the edge, I was seeing tons of fish.  Here’s a picture of the first.

After landing 10 fish I considered putting on wading boots and making it a long day for numbers.  I had plenty of food and water to hit the 20 or 30 fish mark, but my lust for variety made me push on.  I finally made it to the intended destination around 4:30 and poled myself through about 1/3 of the flat to verify the presence of fish.  There were plenty of carp and a couple of buffalo as well.  I didn’t really intend to juggle a pole and a rod but one spotted gar was swimming slowly towards me and I was forced to tuck the pole under my arm and grab my rod.  I came close to landing the gar but it came off right at the boat.

23 sandbass and 10 carp.  Not a bad day sight fishin.  Hey, you ever seen those shows where the guys will turn their back to the camera to hide their “secret bait” or secret rig or fly?  This fish was playing cool with his mistake:

The Mexican Restaurant Fishing Club held an impromptu meeting after a scouting trip.  It was one of those “it’s all about the experience / it’s just good to be out on the water” days.

It’s always good to learn a thing or two on a scouting trip.  This day’s lesson:  you can haul hay in a Nissan.

Steve and I were ditch fishin this day and I somehow pushed the “Soft Focus 70s” button on the camera for an accidental effect.

Anyway, we got kind of intense about the whole sight fishing thing and I think he was too busy down the bank to come and take a snapshot so I had to do the familiar “grass portrait” of the fish. 

Nothing like friends, nothing like bamboo.

Wikipedia defines apex predator as

…predators that, as adults, are not normally preyed upon in the wild by other large animals in significant parts of their range.

In other words, Tyrannosaurus Rex, Grizzly Bear, Bald Eagle, Great White Shark– most of us would just call them badass.

trashonthefly defines trash* as

Fish species that under-observant anglers leave on the bank to die because they never saw them on the cover of magazines.

Yesterday, I went hunting for Apex Trash.  The day started out pretty much the way every other day in Texas has started out for the last three months:

But it did eventually clear up quite a bit.  When I arrived to my first destination, I got a little distracted and tried to take pictures of lily blossoms.  Hey, I have been looking for this particular brand of Apex Trash for six years, and while my hopes were high, I needed to make sure I enjoyed the ride!

I will admit that I am not the best photographer, but this one came out ok.  I’ll spare you the mushroom closeups and the blurry dragonflies.

Now, my original plan was a high energy run-and-gun scouting trip, stopping to fish only in likely places or where I actually saw fish.  Since everything is high and muddy, I realized that it would be possible to work my way from one end of the map to another without wetting a line, and never have the time to retrace my steps on all the dirt roads, 4WD, and blind corners.

Blind fishing really isn’t my style, but, it’s spring time in Texas, and on the right days, all the fish in the water act like they’ve never been offered a free meal before.  My new plan was to keep the scout fishing to a bare minimum since I was fishing mostly small water.  I eliminated the first spot pretty quickly, although I admit that the bluegill that ate my 4″ Clouser really was pretty big. 

In the second spot I became distracted fairly quickly by something other than a fish.  To a Montana boy, a bear is really not a big deal.  They didn’t walk to school with us, but if you were any kind of outdoorsman, you came across them from time to time.  At first I found it odd that my southern friends were so curious about the bears, and now I understand why.  As children we are fed stories and images of animals that are common in distant lands– distant only due to our age– and since many of us never come face to face with those animals until we are adults, the expectations are pretty high and the images fairly well ingrained, but still with a spooky unfamiliarity to them.

The point is, while I should have left the second spot after a couple of casts produced nothing, I was entranced.  And when I hooked up with this little guy,

I got a serious reaction from this one:

And, while it might be considered by some to be a little on the sporting side, I thought that I might just let the animal have the fish.  After the energy the gator expended to swim upcurrent and catch up with the crappie, I thought it only fitting.  Either the gator would tug the crappie off my hook, or I’d have to time a heck of a hookset/breakoff move in order to free the gator from the end of my line.  Both courses would leave the gator with a full belly, so what could it hurt?

Well the gator spooked when it realized something was seriously wrong with the scenario, and the crappie was released only partly traumatized.

Back in the truck and down some more rutted paths.  I don’t know anything about trees, but I’m pretty sure that this spells exotic reel seat:

I found some ponds and spent about an hour between two of them catching bass and catfish.  This guy deserved a picture for two reasons, it was highly spotted, and extremely aggressive.  These fish were actually darting out from vegetation patches and hammering the fly.

It’s been more than two years since I blissfully casted for such small game and I enjoyed every minute of it.  After the gator incident, I realized my day had already reached epic proportions and anything else was candy.  I hopped back in the truck and checked the time.  Texas really is big, and I carry a map in my truck called The Roads of Texas.  The scale is pretty large, showing basically all the rural routes in the state, but still, it runs 150 roughly legal-sized pages.  It’s no more than an hour from one side of a page to another in most cases, and I realized a good friend lived on the page I was driving in.  If I timed it right, I could take a detour and make a visit before I headed back to Big D.

There really was a moment of debate there.  If I quit then, after a great day, I could visit my friend for an hour or two and get home long before the light disappeared from the western sky.  If I continued on, I was only about 30 minutes away from the other spot I had intended on scouting.  I decided to try and make a short trip to the second location, a visit, and a late return home. 

Minutes after I arrived at the second spot, I saw carp crawling all over shallow flats.  My heart stopped.  I love chasing crawlers.  I found a place to park and got to fishing.  What I found was not carp crawling,  but carp clooping in extremely tight groups.  After embarrassing myself and the carp by snagging one in the head, I decided to leave them alone.

About the time I was going to abandon the patch of water, I saw a roll.  It was impossible to identify the species, but it could be…

A quick tippet and fly change later and I was firing off to rolling fish.  After two solid bumps, the third one hit home and the fish rocketed off through the muddy water.  My fly line was wrapped around a snag that I assumed was in fairly deep water.  I set the hook good and then waded over there and threaded my tip top through the snag.  Phew.  First disaster avoided, the fish was still tight.

I got the fish close to hand and it began performing acrobatics.  I could see that the fish was well hooked, but, during one of its aerial maneuvers the tippet ended up threading through its mouth and exiting on the opposite side as the fly.  Considering the teeth, this was not a good thing.  I changed rod angles a few times and got the tippet back to the correct exit point: off the fly and away from the teeth!  A few swipes with the boga and six years of buildup finally released.

Alligator Gar can get huge… like 300 pounds huge… and specimens over 100 pounds are not that uncommon.  Actually, of the specimens that are caught, I should say, 100 pounds is not an unreasonable number.  There is a lot of debate over just how endangered the Alligator Gar has become, but one thing is for certain: trying to find one in North Texas is the very definition of waste of time.

So my first Alligator Gar catch was, like most firsts, pretty small for the species.  8.5 pounds.  I didn’t have a measuring tape but I’ll guess it went about 30 inches.  What my fish lacked in size, it made up for in cool:  as my friend Henry likes to say, no matter what the size, it still counts as one.  I’ve come to a point in my angling where popping my cherry on any new species is a big deal, and the other thing my gar had that other gars don’t is two rows of teeth in the upper jaw.  You can see that in the picture.  As far as those chompers go, I didn’t stick my fingers in there but I was nervous when the 16 pound tippet was threaded through them during the fight.

I know when it’s time to quit, and after watching that fish swim off I retrieved my fly rod from a patch of reeds and put the hook on the keeper.  Fishing was over.  Back at the truck I dumped the muddy wading boots and zipped the legs off my pants.  I would of course finish looking around the area I had come to observe, but I was done with the water and mud.

As I slowly rounded a corner in a dry patch, something caught my eye:

I jumped out and closer inspection revealed it was a shoal of 4″ catfish.

Back in the truck I felt something tangled in my hair, and laughed when I saw it.  Oh, sweet irony.  I had been trash fishing and found the trout angler’s favorite bug, Hexagenia limbata, smashed into my hair. 

Besides the mayfly, I spotted 7 deer, 2 nutria, 2 alligators, bluebirds, all manner of dragonflies, clooping carp, clooping catfish, clooping baby catfish, rolling alligator gar, crappie, bluegill, and an enormous variety of wildflowers including at least three that I have never seen before.  I put a little ska on the radio and drove to my friend’s house for a much needed visit.  We talked about the economy and life and I was lucky enough to be invited to sit down for a pot roast dinner.

It really does not get much better than that.

*hmmm… I might need to work on that trash fish definition a little.

My friends Alex and Mark were the creators of Laughing Bass– an internet fishing show.  The show and the Laughing Bass site have long since been abandoned, although some videos still exist on YouTube.

Alex and Mark came to Big D to film a carp episode for Laughing Bass in late July 2005, which spawned the following two pictures that have been on various versions of this site since.

“Butterhands” Mark dropped his first carp before we could get a snapshot.  The whole thing was on video, of course, but we failed to get what could have been his proud portrait to hang over his bed… or something.

Now Alex’s fish, on the other hand, was very easy going when it came to the photoshoot.  In fact, his fish was the first carp I’d ever seen that didn’t fight.  It was actually quite pathetic.  On the video you could hear me say something along the lines of “any minute now…”  In fact, I was sure that when I took a swipe at it with the net that the fish would explode.  Maybe even break the tippet.  But it was not to be.  Alex’s first carp would not fight.  Not one bit.

So when Alex told me he’d be back in Big D in late June 2008 and needed a fishing fix, I thought I’d try to fix him up with a real carp- a normal carp.  I don’t remember what this fish weighed, but, the rod was bent double for quite a while and I distinctly remember the surprised look on his face.

 Sorry your first carp was such a wet rag, Alex.