Joe Raymundo

California Fishing Licenses

2011-01-03T16:27:00.000-08:00

Its mid December and I'm waiting for my latest CA Fishing License to hit my mailbox... Nothing. Just when I was about to get concerned, a letter from CA Department of Fish & Game (DFG) showed up that said they will no longer be automatically be sending my license. (WHAT??) DFG has instituted a new change in getting your fishing license. This applies to everyone including annual & lifetime license holders.

With the new Automated License Data System (ALDS) you have your choice at purchasing them online or via an ALDS Agents. Its not entirely intuitive, but even if you muddle through it you should be able to get your license before you head out on a trip. The good part is, if you plan it well in advance you wont have to leave your house to pick it up. You just pull out your visa or mastercard, figure out the website, buy your license and then print out a temporary paper license. The flip side, if you procrastinate till the day before your 7 day fly fishing Orvis getaway, your favorite shop where you used to pick up your licenses, may no longer offer em.

This new system was supposed to help move the DFG into a more "green" department; although, I don't know how much greener a Fish & Game department can get... Ironically, your new fishing license will be an approximately 1 yard long blue plastic receipt - including license, validation and various report cards and you're gonna waste some paper printing out your temporary license (seeing as I KNOW you will be buying it the day before your getaway.) Seems like a step backwards to me.

CA DFG has published a list of ALDS Agents as well as a FAQ that is guaranteed to confuse many anglers, so if you're lazy like me, you may just want to buy em online. Keep in mind it does take a couple weeks to get to you, so plan accordingly.

Also, just like last year, you no longer have to visibly display your CA Fishing License above your waist. You merely have to have it on your person. Apparently the reason for this was that there were not a lot of game wardens to check on your license, but it seems to me like this adds more work for the guys in green checking against poachers. Oh well, you can't teach common sense and it IS government work.

If you're planning on going steelhead, salmon or spiny lobster fishing, you will also need to get your report card at the same time. DFG no longer calls the add ons (like two rod, ocean enhancement, etc) stamps... they are referred to as validations. Also, if you need to add a validation or card they will end up printing the whole damn thing over - so you may just wanna get em all to save you the trouble.

Well, hopefully its not just Change for the sake of change... what do you think?

Re-Learning life from a 3 y/o

2010-08-11T18:29:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago, Noah & I were walking back to our car from fishing a particular stretch of beach in North San Diego County when we came upon a dead bird. Now, the first thought that came to my mind was "nasty", followed less than a second later with "oh could I use that for some flies?" The bird was well decayed and the thought of putting the carcass in my wife's car was less than appealing (More because I didn't want to endure the aftermath or wrath). We opted not to pick up the bird and began combing the beach for sea gull feathers. I know gulls are a protected Marine Animal, but I figured they left the feathers, so collecting it was ok.

I told Noah that to collect some feathers to bring home with us. Bam. He was off collecting feathers on the beach. It was a long walk to the beach, so I carefully chose the perfect feathers, thinking about their specific application, and trying not to destroy the tips and only picking the perfect ones. Noah on the other hand, is picking up every feather - mangled, clean, short, tall. I say, "What do you think you're going to tie with all those?" to which he replies, "Some flies daddy. See this, they're perfect!"

At this point I'm about to tell him, "You're missing the point." When he says, "All these guys are good. I can use something from all of them." At that point I realized, I missed the point. Generally speaking I tend to look at whats perfect. I mean, why waste time or money. I discriminated and was very picky. Noah accepted all. Maybe there's a life lesson there... for me.

Exploring Doane

2010-07-15T23:26:00.000-07:00

It was then I knew I'd had enough,

Burned my credit card for fuel

Headed out to where the pavement

turns to sand

With a one-way ticket

to the land of truth

And my suitcase in my hand

How I lost my friends

I still don't understand.

Its the end of the day and I know I'm beat. My patience has been strung out and I know I'm due to pass out on the couch and let it all go. For those out there that are parents, they know the drill. Go to work, Get home, Feed the kids, put em to bed, eat dinner, kiss your wife goodnight and start the whole routine all over. It sucks and it's a horrible way to raise a child and keep a family.

We try to break from the mold, but there's only so much your body can handle, and once you've reached that point - its back to zombie parenting.

As I drove to work today, I thought about how fast Noah has grown up. Almost 4 years ago, we brought the little hurricane home, ecstatic yet hoping he would quit crying and get some sleep. Time is flying and I frequently think back about the younger me, when I was Noah's age and my father was mine. The pictures in the hallway do nothing but remind me how fast time flies.

Taking Noah fishing is like re-living my past, only its my turn in the drivers seat. We always talk about what we would do when we are older, yet few of us actually remember that we are and its actually our turn. There's so little time to raise your children. It is flying away at exponential rates. In many ways, I already miss my 2 year old, who is now 3. It won't be long till he wont want to fish with his old man on a Saturday. Do yourself a favor. Take your children outdoors. You owe it to yourself and your kids.

J

Mammoth Soul-o

2010-07-14T01:07:00.000-07:00

Take a gold watch, sell everything

Throw a dart at the map

Hook up the air stream

Ride into that setting sun

Do something crazy and dumb

While you're still young ...

Life is too short to put it off anymore

You gotta live it before, it's too late

Can't turn that clock back around

On what your dreamin about

You better do it now don't wait...

The month of June seemed to stretch April, May and July into one long, worn out road. My eyes, bloodshot, seemed to accent the dark bags that appeared as testament to the long hours of working. I was tired, grouchy and it showed. I was looking for minor salvation. I'd wanted to travel to Belize, I'd settle for getting out of Dodge.

Earlier in the year, some friends and clients of mine had told me they would be taking month long trip throughout the western US and while I was invited to meet them along the road, my workload was far too great and I was booked solid through the month of June. Email and phone calls get transferred back and forth and find myself making plans to guide them in the Mammoth Area in search for some beautiful trout. July couldn't come too soon and I frequently imagined trading out the 8wt for a 4.

As quickly as the plan was created, the threads began to unravel. Although I desperately tried to take the ends and make something from it, there was nothing I could do to salvage the arrangements. My clients month long trip got waylaid in Oregon. Apparently, they racked up miles of repairs on their trip and had to postpone fishing with me till October. My buddy through no fault of his own, ended up not making it to the sierras but rather sitting by a hot lake in Riverside County, drinking a cold beer with his wife. Not a bad way out, but I'm sure he wished he was fishing. Even my wife bowed out and made plans for herself and Noah.

Hmm. I am stubborn if nothing else and while I could have easily stayed home and enjoyed the company of my family - I decided to hit Mammoth sans the family in tow. Although I have always enjoyed traveling and driving on my own, my wife is always skeptical and always balks at the idea of me traveling 7 hours away alone. Its a bitter sweet arrangement, and sometimes its easier to cancel everything. Its like getting the courage to watch a movie alone for the first time - only that when you finally get around to do it, you realize its not bad at all. For me, it had been a long time since I just up and left. Kids and Families tend to deter and defer these types of arrangements. But I was playing with new rules, no family, friends or clients. This was my time. Last Man Standing. Soulo. Just the perfect remedy to a weary month.

The drive to Mammoth from San Diego isn't very long. Its just that it isn't short enough. Distance and effort is probably the only thing that is keeping the tens of thousands of visitors from destroying that little sanctuary.

CA-395 is legendary. There's so much history hidden in the boarded up wooden homes, street names and fallen road markers along that stretch of highway. There's ghost towns to drive through and cool little main street mountain towns to stop for lunch and check in with the local fly shops. Even the boring section of the lower 395 conjures up thoughts of banjos playing and flashes from the movie "The hills have eyes."

"Life is too short... to put it off anymore..." The tunes played on and I saw a sign. Manzanar National Historic Site turn Left. Hmm. I thought back to grade school when I read the book "Farewell to Manzanar." I remember it feeling inconsequential and irrelevant to a young kid in the 80s. Just another book to flush through the brain, regurgitate on a book report and wait till recess. Today - I was alone, I like history, so why the hell not. I turned off and found a rather nondescript building with an old fire engine out front. It would probably be a quick stop. I was wrong.

" In 1942, the United States government ordered more than 110,000 men, women, and children to leave their homes and detained them in remote, military-style camps. Manzanar War Relocation Center was one of ten camps where Japanese American citizens and resident Japanese aliens were interned during World War II. "

The inside of the building was beautiful and well done. It was both sobering and fascinating - and brought to light some very interesting modern day dilemmas we now face. With a small sigh, I reflected on today - with parks and libraries are closing, would this important little history lesson and monument last. I knew I couldn't sit there and read everything. I found they had the National Park Service has a nice "Virtual Museum" worth looking into. Definitely a good read.

Manzanar, Independence, Lone Pine, Bishop, Mammoth Lakes... Whew. Almost there. I love small towns and Bishop is no different. While not your one road, one stoplight town, its small enough to feel its pulse. Its a nice place to stock up and get some coffee at the "Looney Bean", fill the tank of the Sportsmobile with gasoline and maybe a quick fishing report on the way through town. I checked out Brock's Fly Shop and while its laid out cleanly with a decent amount of gear and positioned on an easy corner lot, Gary, seemed rather disinterested in talking much. I didn't want to read too much into it having gone through too many stores where the owner is literally on top of you, yet the shop looked so personable. Its too bad that he just wasn't at the time. Got what I needed (truthfully, I forgot the items at home!) and headed off to the river to fish. It wasn't much longer, and a good thing too... I wanted to fish and the coffee and water had finally gotten the better of me.

While some people find the Upper Owens boring and blase , I found the scene quite captivating and I snapped a few shots before I hit the water.

Fishing the Upper Owens can be technical, as it is generally preferred that you don't wade at all to avoid damaging any part of the ecosystem - but its not overly so. There really is no need to enter the water to fish almost the entire stretch of river. The main reason for not entering is to help prevent the spread of New Zealand Mud Snails which can have a dramatic and devistating impact on the river system and on the lakes in its head or tailwaters.

On a hot day you might even consider jumping into its cool water as the weather can easily reach the 100s in the summer time. My advice, drink lots of water, stay hydrated and take some breaks in the shade. Unfortunately, there's not much natural shade except for cloud cover and that too is intermittent. Not listening to my own advice, I found myself fairly dehydrated with a pounding headache and proceeded to throw up all the water I tried to put down once I realized I wasn't well. Hobbled to the Rite-Aid in Mammoth lakes and quickly purchased a giant gatorade bottle for electrolytes, more water & some Advil.

Fishing Tip: Stick to small dries and nymphs. There is usually some sort of Pale Morning Dun or Callibaetis hatch in the morning followed by a caddis hatch in the afternoon. Stick to sizes 16-18 in the AM and 18-20 for the smaller caddis. Black, Olive & even red emergers, zebra midges all seem to work well under a dropper. Stimulators are working, but not as well as the nymphs. Nevertheless, they make an excellent Indicator as well. Spinners looking to keep the stockers, try the good old standard salmon eggs.

Finding a place to duck out, make some food and eat is generally tougher in most parts of california. In Mono & Inyo counties, they are a lot more relaxed. I just pulled off the road on FS2S07 and quickly made camp. I had forgotten my guitar, so I started humming some songs that my son Noah sings and quickly fell asleep.

Its always good not to wear out your welcome, in both guests and fly fishing. This time was no exception so I decided to hit up Hot Creek. I was already relaxed so the last thing I wanted was to sit shoulder to shoulder fly fishing for a little 8" trout, but I couldn't resist the temptation and I went. Hot Creek is actually born as Mammoth creek which begins above Mammoth Lakes. From there it joins the hot thermal springs and eventually becomes affectionately known to us fly anglers as Hot Creek. There's roughly a couple of miles available to public fishing. Beyond that the land belongs to private fly fishing ranches that don't take kindly to fishing on their property. The thermal springs are a nice place to soak your toes or go for a dip -- but beware, the park service has "closed" swimming to all due to unstable thermal activity. They don't enforce it and you will always find people in the springs taking a bath while the park rangers clean the parking lots.

To the skunked angler, Hot Creek can be the answer to a series of long prayers. There are more fish in this stretch of water than in most parts of California. Couple that with lots of wild native fish and beautiful scenery and you'll often find this place is packed during the early part of the season. Come high temps and later in the year, it quiets up nicely. A great place to take beginners and a challenging place for those with technical knowledge and skills. Hot Creek has a little bit for everyone. In the few hours I stopped by to fish the Creek, I caught more trout than I could count. The larger ones really are sitting in those areas that are hard to make a cast to. Try it and if you're good or lucky, you'll catch a nice brown or rainbow. I caught a monster of a brown trout; however, once I removed the hook and tried to hold it and the camera at the same time -- it slipped off into the water at my feet. It was not meant to be I suppose.

I figured I'd setup camp along the same stretch of road and head out to San Diego after a quick morning session. I could have. I'm generally lazy so that would have been the easiest thing for me to do. Then, it hit me - as much as I love traveling and being alone, I missed my family.

I guess I had my fill. Plenty of beautiful trout, gorgeous scenery and great weather. I took off for San Diego that night bringing back a few pictures to show my son (which by the way, when I have to go on a fishing trip without him, I refer to it as feeding the bears. I wonder how much longer I can hold that up when I only return with fish pictures) and knowing that I will be back sometime soon. My soul was refreshed and my mind was renewed. Amidst all the beauty and magnificence, I remembered that my family was so important to me and I remembered why I wanted to share that place with them in the first place. Well, maybe we'll all be able to go next time...

Driving on 395 when you're tired...

Driving on I-15 when you're tired...

Oh yah, special thanks to Kaenon Polarized which of course allowed me to see those big freaking trout hiding in the tiny little cutouts and which received plenty of complements as usual. I showed the glasses to a group of people and I'm comfortable in saying they'll probably pick a pair up when they had back to the OC.

Fathers Day Fishing with the Family...

2010-06-19T22:33:00.000-07:00

Spent some time with Noah & Nicole at Lake Cuyamaca for Fathers Day. I swear that place always has the best vibe. The weather was perfect, family was with me and the fishing was good. What more can you ask for?

Carlsbad Fishing with a Monkey

2010-05-28T15:59:00.001-07:00

There is a white hot sun
And a big blue sea
From the 101
To the Tappan Zee
There is a shadow world
On the other side
And I will ride, ride, ride

I sat there staring at the ceiling in the middle of the day. I started to count them and simultaneously thought about all the places I wanted to travel and fish this year. Don't get me wrong, I am usually very productive... but a not so unique combination of being overworked, tired, and not enough caffeine caused me to stare at the thousands of little dots in the tiles.

My arm started pulling back as if to begin a cast with my fly rod on a good stretch of beach, with good water... only I was sitting in my little office hole overlooking a stack of papers and bills and the closest water was the slightly shaking water bottles stacked half full on the corner of my desk. It was like I was watching my hand move and I didn't know who was moving it. Much like cutting a head off a rattlesnake and watching it still bite you.

A quick glance at the wall confirmed that there was still too much time in the day to bail out. I would have to wait. When they say that anglers are patient, I must assume its because when we think about that next trip to the beach -- its always just a bit too far away. The clock ticks.

My son calls me on the phone. Dad come home. Lets go fishing. Click.
The clock ticks.

The phone call gets the better of me and I rush home and grab my son and wife and head to the beach. Just a quick session I tell myself. I grab a bunch of stuff and haul off to the beaches surrounding the warm water jetty. Just the sound of it makes me think of summer and warmer water.

My wife is driving like mad, and I'm chasing the sun. I'm setting up the rods in the car only to find out that I left my fly box and Noah's small rod. Terrific. I thought about taking the only rod and fishing. I thought about the face of my son telling him that he couldn't fish while I did. ugh. The clock ticks. We arrived at the beach. At this point, I still didn't know what I was going to do.

I grabbed a handful of gulp sandworms in camo, tied em onto the rod. I took a good look at the prime water and handed the rod to Noah. He ran down the beach and I started pointing him to a nice little hole. The rod was almost 3 times as big as he is. 9' steelhead medium light action rod. Watching him cast that little rod was more than amusing, he rocketed it way out there. I was a proud dad. Then he caught a little Barred Surf Perch.... And another one... and another one??? He ended up with about 7 or 8 fish in about 45 minutes before his toes got too cold.

As I sat there drying him up he says... "Dad. Lets go home and tie some flies."... What a rad day.

Small Video Clip of the session & fly tying:

http://www.youtube.com/user/sdpoacher#p/a/u/0/cxQzUJTWT9A

Meeting the Kernvillains

2010-04-27T22:13:00.000-07:00

... there's a place called Mount Whitney,
From where the mighty Kern River comes down.
Now, it's not deep nor wide,
But it's a mean piece of water, my friend.
And I may cross on the highway,
But I'll never swim Kern River again.
M.H.

I carefully placed my boot in the water, feeling the slippery rocks shifting underneath my foot and imagined myself falling in. The flow of the river was fast and hard. Dangerously faster than on the Eastern side of the Sierras and definitely harder to keep from falling into the freezing water. There was no way the flow reports were correct, I thought to myself. I swore under my breath, pissed that I didn't check it early that morning. I guess it didn't matter, I would have fished regardless. A more knowledgeable person may have not, but I wasn't going to let water stop my exploration this early in the game.

We had arrived under cover of darkness, sneaking in the early morning to catch a few hours of sleep along the shoreline of Lake Isabella. We didn't need fancy lodging. The three of us were just glad for the chance to play adventurer and explore without the creature comforts that would have naturally accompanied us if our wives had joined the party. Ignorantly blissful, we settled somewhere between a couple Porta Jon's and the incessant humming of portable generators.

Lake Isabella (Aux. Dam Campground)

What looked to be abandoned ships snaking its way along the perimeter of a crater, proved to be just an eye sore come the morning light. Nut to butt, hundreds of trailers blocked every accessible view of the shoreline in a sad attempt to claim the worlds beauty for themselves.

Unsure of our plan of attack, we headed north to Kernville following up on some advice given by Aaron Silberberg at SoCal Fly Shop. The plan was simple. Get to town, catch a bunch of the stocker trout at Riverside park (simultaneously showing up the bait slingers), get outfitted at the kern river fly shop, and head north away from civilization to the Golden Trout Wilderness. I hoped to meet Guy, the owner of the Kern River Fly Shop and get some good advice on the area. Evidently he knew the river well. The plan was as good as any, if it weren't for the fact that so many bait anglers were lined shoulder to shoulder catching an obscene number of large stocker trout - mostly with powerbait and salmon eggs.

We setup carefully, each of us wondering how we would push our way into some free space. This wasn't the way it was planned. Hell, this was the antithesis of fly fishing! Still, they were catching quite a lot of fish and it had been a long time since I felt a grab on a 4 wt rod.

With the flows as strong as 1100 CFM, the river was going to be tough to wade and the trees that lined the river, made it challenging to lay out a nice cast with a fly over 10 feet away. Anglers with spinning reels could easily stand on the shoreline and chuck powerbait to the welcoming trout. Flopping my line or roll casting was less than satisfying and I recalled that I had left a small TFO spinning rod in the recesses of my Sportsmobile. I ignored temptation and as my friend Michelle Bowman says, "Resist the Powerbait," I did.

How often do you have prime fishing waters within sight of a trailer park?

Evidently, the pumps failed at the fish hatchery just north of town -- they dumped there whole load of trout into the river where they met the eagerly waiting hands of Josh...

The Kern River Fly Shop was a small modest store, with only a simple, but large sign on the outside that read "FLY SHOP." A plainly dressed man in a brown, Carhartt jacket, paced outside the store front porch. With one hand, he gestured hello, in another he held the remainder of a cigarette that needed to get ashed. Reminiscent of a bygone era, Bill, looked like a small town deputy sheriff overlooking the mayhem that hit the town in the early morning. We got to talking and the man had actually retired from working the streets of Bakersfield as a cop. His new part time gig served him fine. Enough time to get out of the house and think about fishing and most likely would help him stay married for another 30 years. He seemed to be a man of few words, so his advice to skip the crowds and go for the clearer, albeit colder water was heeded and received well.

Dude... That way

The road north was beautiful. The southern sierras north of Kernville at a lower elevation was much warmer than its sister on the Eastern side. From the roadway, you could see the sharp contrast of the raging river and the peaceful snow that lined the top of the mountains. The road past Kernville snaked through the valley as if it God designed it to flow next to the actual river. Without any real direction, we made numerous stops on the road looking for fish, but inevitably headed north to Johnsondale bridge.

Like many great fly fishing waters, there is generally some landmark that separates different sections of water, oftentimes dividing uses and regulation. This river was no exception and we read (and reread) the regulation on the trailhead to ensure that we could fish north of the bridge.

The river north of the bridge can be fairly deep and the narrow trail that hugged the canyon sometimes climbs a long distance above the river bottom only to tumble a few hundred feet below. The water raged on and on and although there looked to be plenty of access, we weren't sure which would prove to be the best. The fish were definitely hard to come by and most barely gave our presentations a second look. Nevertheless, determination will prevail and the patient angler gets a few hard grabs with some decent fish.

That water doesn't look like 500 CFM... Jason and Josh peering down the trail for access to the ragin river.

You can fish the most beautiful country in the world, but if you've traveled far and the tugs on your line are getting fewer and farther in between - you're gonna hit what you KNOW works best. We headed back to town to check out the mayhem at the park. Apparently, the fish hatchery about a mile north had broken down and had dumped their entire load of fish. The crowd had been thinning out with the available light and we found more comfortable ground to swing our line. Lucky for us we did. Fishing was gangbusters. I began to forget everything I said about stocker trout vs wild fish, the fishing was too fun to quit. We caught a lot of good sized fish, and some of the same fish twice. Josh had finally caught one that was caught previously by a bait chucker and since it didn't look as it would weather the return, it made it to the pan that evening.

Ok... caught 1 too many times.

The staples of camping.

For the next few days, the fishing was the same. Explore, get worked and head back to town for a quick fix. We eve the n tried water above Lake Isabella looking for spawning trout. Nada. The water didn't look fishy. The crew began to get bored of the town scenery and the Kernvillains who blasted their stereos to unwilling listeners.

Looking for spawners

Sportsmobile above Lake Isabella

We knew it would happen. Even in our most frustrating moments, the time had come to leave. It was time for the mixed feeling that appears after most trips. The desire for a nice bed - but leaving exploration for the mundane. We tried to delay our return fishing the lower kern - but ended up getting more disgusted at how filthy the place was left.

Litter, Litter Everywhere

The irregular boulders and slow water flows made the tailwater of Lake Isabella easy to fish. I guess if you didn't care, some fish were easily caught - If only the trout were more cooperative. I guess it really didn't matter if we caught fish. It was fun to feel young again without a care in the world. If only for a few days. If you could overlook the trash and the complete rudeness with the littering, the gang bangers and their cars - you would see some amazing scenery and meet some cool people. Things that only people who deliberately leave the confines of their cars will ever get to see. The mountains were laced in lavender and gold. The mountains tipped with brilliantly white snow. The air was fresh and clean and the cold river flowed through your soul. I cant wait till next week...

WTF is this thing?

Might as well tie the line to his toe

Frolic

Nice camping areas in BLM Land

Guajome Regional Park - Discovering San Diego

2010-03-02T20:58:00.000-08:00

Need is a relative thing these days,
It borders on desire
The high tech world is full of bright shiny things
We think that we really require...

Its so easy to dream about traveling to exotic lands while browsing through the latest copy of The Fly Shop catalog or National Geographic Traveler. And although I will admit to keeping those materials on hand to read (pretty much anywhere), you'll find me often enough nestled with a cup of coffee, a DeLorme Atlas & Gazetteer, a Thomas Brothers map book and Google Earth. Sometimes traveling is easy as calling a travel firm that specializes in fishing, surfing or safaris - other times, its do your research.

A great many people I run into seem to think that I'm blowing wads of dough traveling all the time, and although world travel is by no means cheap, you can find your own escape oftentimes in your own backyard. Most of the time, all you'll spend is time and fuel. The benefits are astounding.

Guajome Regional Park
Guajome Regional Park is about 557 acres in northern San Diego County - located on the border of Oceanside and Vista. While not drop dead gorgeous by any means, its a scenic oasis in an urban environment - a perfect place for a picnic or a hike through its extensive network of trails. If you've got kids, theres a nice little playground that overlooks the lake - and its free from splintering tan bark. Guajome was home to the Native Americans but there is little information describing the actual inhabitation of the place prior to 200 years ago. Two Native Americans eventually received the 2200 acre Rancho Guajome as a land grant from a Mexican Governor back in 1845. They then proceeded to sell it off to a LA Merchant who then gave it to his sister in law. More historical information is found in the fairly informative Guajome Regional Park pamphlet found at the gate.

The main lake is quite nice, with a couple islands in the middle. Most of the lake are covered with tulles and reeds, so its difficult to fish from shore. It would make for a great lake to float tube or kayak - but entering the lake is prohibited. The day we checked out the lake, it was chocolate brown with a 3-4" visibility. There are actually two fishing ponds, but the trail to the second pond was a bit muddy for a 3 year old (or rather, I didn't want to clean him up) so we stayed in the main area.

There were some giant frogs tucked away in the reeds as well as some big geese and ducks. Its quite a nice place to take the kids - especially if you live in North County. The area is home to over 186 species of birds and small mammals. When the area was privately owned, there actually used to exist a exotic bird farm, but where the actual estate and facilities that housed these birds, escapes me.

There's a nice campground that is very clean and relatively quiet. There are 35 sites with electrical and water power. Hot showers, toilets, fire rings and a disposal tank are also offered. Although you're right of CA-56, its quiet and feels remote. Reservations are required, but it didn't look like you'd have a problem reserving a site.

Both hikers and horses can explore the miles of trails; however, when i was there, I didn't notice any riders. The place had a very nice family feel to it and there were several parents walking and hiking the trails with their children and pets. Pets are allowed on a 6' leash, which is usual in California.

Overall, this small park is nice and clean and offers a nice and varied relaxing environment to take your family and enjoy for the day or overnight. I wouldn't count on the fishing, but you never know - you just might be lucky.

Catch & Release

2010-02-28T00:17:00.001-08:00

* A lonely boy finds peace in fishing. His mother says John this is not the way life's supposed to be. Don't you see the life that you are missing? And he says... When I grow up I want to be, One of the harvesters of the sea.
I think before my days are done, I want to be a fisherman.... *

Before it has even begun, I've been hearing the rain fall. Tapping from the sky, running down the roof, cascading below and turning my boat cover into a small casting pond. These thoughts get the better of me, and I slip out the back way, chasing the sun, hoping to hear the sound of my fly line ripping through the guides. Midway there - my conscience scry's my son sitting on the neighbors couch, rod in hand bags ready to go. I feel evil. I want to fish...selfishly, for myself... but I go home, grab my boy, and dash off to fish the remainder of the visible light on a beach not far from home... The rain is coming, but I can get my line wet.

The wind was out - not gale force, but decent enough not to let a 3 y/o sling a 4wt into the wind. Choices, choices, choices... He pulls out a dirty kastmaster from a cupholder in our van. He squeeks.. "How about a master kaster?" With a smile, I tie one on. I tie on a short surf candy and we walk a bit and talk about his day. Its a good day to be a dad.

Nice little perch on the fly...

"Dad. There's a hole." Sure enough, a small little trough close enough for him to cast presented himself. The color looked wrong, but I chalked it up to the reflection of the sky... I should have known. It was probably a sea nymph -seeking mischief. A couple casts turns into a couple perch. Not bad I thought. Never caught anything but grief and weed on surf candy. One more cast.... strip, strip, strip. Slow - but steady. Then PUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLLL.. I strip set, it pulls - and then PLINK... gone.

I utter something that no father should say in front of their fry, yet most find themselves doing at the wrong time. With a sigh, I back up out of the ebb & flow.

A lot of 3 year olds can cast. - My imp can already cast a mile.. Casting isn't the problem. Peripheral awareness is and that only comes with time and experience and maybe too many close calls.

Wack - pull. pull. UGH. In that moment - my life, the nymphs, the fish that got away and the small imp standing in front of me with a bewildered look on his face - flash consecutively like a combination strobe & projector.

Yah.. it stung a little.

No yelling. I just reeled up my line, told my boy we need to get to the van... every step, more embarassing, every step, a little bit more painful.

Threw the iPhone in the back of the van to keep him busy watching "September Sessions." Grabbed some mono, tied a loop and had a tussle with a little gold kastmaster.

Should I have gone straight to the beach? I could have fished in peace. Nah, I made the right choice. Its just that sometimes, choices aren't always cut and dry and sometimes, you just can't tell what will happen. Its good to be alive. Its good to be a dad. Its good to fish.

This was an experiment to see if a fish feels pain. Actually not bad.

Fish out of Water

2010-02-05T00:15:00.000-08:00

...I woke up this morning, a rainbow filled the sky
That was God tellin' me, Everything's gonna be alright ....J.J./G.L.

This week pushed me to my limits. It wasn't that I was overworked, too stressed or angry - it was just that I needed to breathe... the kind of air you just can't find when you live nestled between three major highways in North San Diego County. Ordinarily, saltwater flows heavily through my veins and encourages me never to stray too far from water - so my wife was quite surprised when I told her I wanted to go to the desert.

"Why do you want to go to the Desert?"

"To see a mammoth."

"Maybe we should schedule a trip to the doctor first."

A Rusty Mammoth

So that weekend, we grabbed some food, threw it in a bag and made for the Sportsmobile. I looked back in the garage to see if I missed anything and I caught a glimpse of a fly rod reflecting some light from a vent in the wall. I was going to the desert I thought. I won't need it. But I grabbed a couple anyway.

Lots of my friends LOVE the desert. They flock there year after year with their travel trailers and toy haulers stocked with ATVs, motorcycles, & dune buggies. Like nomads traveling along a shifting path, you'll spot these modern day caravans with their encircled camp rv's guarding their young. The sound of the little 50cc motors whining in the background. Although we'd drive by this scene on our way to and from -- this wasn't the desert we would experience.

As we rolled through Borrego Springs, we noticed the iron guardians watching over the desert treasure that we'd often heard of, but yet have never seen. A couple coyote's watched us from the distance and eventually ran away disinterested.

Noah and the Beast.

We stopped to eat at a little Mexican restaurant. The food was good, but nothing special. Same with the Margaritas - but its really hard to go wrong with mexican food.

You read time and time again, that the desert is unforgiving - so feeling a bit more cautious than normal (and coupled with the fact, we've never really been to the desert), we decided to follow the Arroyo Salado, a rather easy established trail in the Anza Borrego Badlands. Anza Borrego is California's largest state park with over 500 miles of dirt roads. And if you like free and primative, It also is one of the best places in California to camp as you are allowed to camp in nearly all of the areas in the park - developed or not.

Arroyo Salado Sign.. One of the trails we checked out.

Midway, a short little trail leads you to a small mailbox that houses a little guest book nestled among 17 palms. In years past, getting water from the spring was never really reliable, so the travelers would leave extra water in glass jars hidden underneath the palm trees. Maybe they felt this would give em Karma points - just in case. Nicole just hoped that if we got stuck, someone else would be driving through to help out. I wondered how I ranked with Karma.

Nicole driving the SMB along the sandstone walls and in 4 wheel drive for the first time in a sandy wash.

We camped along the Arroyo Salado wash. There was several nice pullouts that left you feeling isolated.

Our Sportsmobile "BARF"

The rest of the afternoon through the evening, we played outside, played guitar and breathed the desert air. We even pulled out that fly rod and practiced casting a piece of orange yarn at different rocks along the ground. That evening we listened to the coyotes singing in the distance. Noah wasn't a big fan of them, but I told em that his dog, Dexter was far bigger than those dogs. I didn't need (or want) to expand any further as that sufficed for him.

Nicole drying out her fins in the desert.

Guitar Hero.. except its a real guitar. and its pint sized... Noah with a Baby Taylor 6 string.

Dexter checking out the digs.

Ocotillo Flower

The Sportsmobile at night under the desert sky.

Two...

Thoughtful

Padre

On Something...

Rusty Eyes...

Camping is always fun, but we didn't get a chance to see the sights that many more knowledgeable desert explorers have seen. In the future, we'd like to see some slot canyons and hike a bit on foot. We'll have to tag along with someone who has a more intimate knowledge of the desert and its secrets. So for now, I still don't understand the desert, but like every good explorer out there, I know the answer to that question is out here somewhere. I just need to listen.

J

Searching for the Devil

2009-09-02T00:08:00.000-07:00

The Upper Owens river below Benton's Crossing. Meandering through to Crowley.

Sometimes, as the dust settles on your adventures, you forget the thrill of exploring areas that you have never set foot on before. You go on with your routine, and the time between trips stretches longer and longer - and the enthusiastic sensation you felt while traveling, gets dull with time.

The Adventure Bug still lingers - waiting patiently for the right moment to bury itself into your consciousness and wake up the sleeping lion.

That bug arose in my mind when my pal Jason mentioned he had a few days free and clear of all responsibilities and that exercising our camper vans and fly rods would be the ideal way to spend the time. I threw out the idea of going to the Mammoth area and less than a couple weeks later, we were on our way.

Both of us, lifelong anglers, had never visited that area before and the thought of exploring an area relatively close to home sounded perfect. We invited other people to join us, and as things usually happen, its always the same crew of dedicated pseudo drifters who are willing and able to drop what they are doing to catch some fish. That meant myself, Jason & my brother Will.

From San Diego, we drove up I-15 to Highway 395. 395 is such an amazing road, that if you typed '395' in Google, a billion hits show up on your screen tempting you with amazing sunsets, large fish and beautiful mountainscapes. We left Thursday afternoon and setup camp just north of Crowley Lake just about midnight. It was over 100 degrees when we drove through riverside, and a nice 49 degrees pulling up above Shermans grade.

Ahh. So freaking refreshing.

We decided to take the Sportsmobile instead of caravanning by car. Camping in a Sportsmobile is so easy and convenient - You just set the parking brake, crack a beer and push the button to raise the penthouse. Its a good thing too as we arrived just about midnight. After a quick breakdown of tomorrows activities, we hit the sack.

Both of us didn't sleep real well and we both woke up at 5am without any alarm, anxious to start fishing. We quickly broke down camp, made coffee and headed north of Benton Crossing towards the long ears of the Upper Owen River.

Early Morning Wakeup. A view of the sportsmobile facing the Upper Owens River

The water was running a bit thin in this area and the algae and weed growth was pretty thick. After plying the area briefly, we decided to skip over to the south below the crossing, just north of the lake. By then the weather was warming up nicely and the hatches of flies started showing their magic. We quickly tied on a size 18/20 elk hair caddis and watched the little stockers rise and hit the fly with reckless abandon. Everything worked on this river. Elk Hair Caddis', #16 Adams', #20 Mosquito Adams', BWOs. I even threw in a tiny darter clouser towards the afternoon just to see if it would take!

It was just past afternoon when Will called me and mentioned there was a fire blocking his way through Yosemite and he would need to find a route around the park. Flipping through my Delorme Atlas, I suggested he take the 108 and go around towards Bridgeport. It only added on an extra hour. We met Will at a little coffee shop called Looney Bean Coffee in the town of Mammoth Lakes. There were so many crazy vanagon campers in this area, and we met a fellow driving one that Jason had helped out on the side of the road a few years back! After a quick stop to the Troutfitter Fly Shop, we headed out to fish the evening hatch at Hot Creek. The Troutfitter fly shop is quite a nice fly shop. Interestingly, there were more workers in there than I have EVER seen a fly shop. If you ask them for fishing advice, be prepared to filter out the knowledge and save it for later! Trout fishing in these waters can be technical and their selection of flies spans a whole side of the building. When you ask em whats working, be specific and let them know where you plan on fishing and your level of fishing. We watched people in there with the most befuddled looks, wondering if they should have stuck to fishing with Powerbait and night crawlers.

At then end of the day, and after a considerable amount of driving, we made camp somewhere on FS2S07.

Camping Along FS#2S07

Just like the night before, we woke at 5am and started the morning routine - hygiene, breaking down camp and making coffee. When you continually move with your camper, the campsite itself doesn't really matter and there is a sense of nomadic life that reminds you that you're alive and frees you from your mental ties, at least for a little while. At the advice of John Hendrickson at San Diego Fly Shop, we decided to hit up the San Joaquin river via the Devils Postpile National Monument.

Where is the Devil? We heard this area had spirits, but we only found them in a bottle we had brought with us.

Devils Postpile National Park is nestled against the Ansel Adams Wilderness. The postpile itself is a quick little hike along an easy trail that takes you to the base of the formation. There are also plenty of trails that connect this route to the Pacific Coast Trail which connects the western states from north to south.

The Middle fork of the San Joaquin looks nothing like the Owens river, just to its east. The owens meanders through fields spotted with cattle - the San Joaquin is filled with pools and waterfalls that go through canyon walls. Both unique and visually stimulating. There were not many hatches on the MFSJ, with minimal vegetation that attracts the bugs - so I opted to fish with #14 Hoppers and San Juan Worms. Ever since fishing some streams in Montana with my Father In law, I have loved the San Juan Worm. Sometimes it feels like cheating when using one of these guys! We casted the little guys just beneath the waterfalls and watched them float right to waiting fish in the pools along the river.

Jason babying his 6x tippet while hooked up to a little brook trout.

After fishing the morning, we head back to the van, made a quick brunch and explored the area a bit more. Will was getting a little ansy and wanted to fish this crystal clear lake we saw on the way into the park. We quickly made our way back down the hill and suited up. There were anglers on the shoreline tossing worms into the lake, but it was the float tubers and fly anglers that were continually catching fish. We grabbed our 5wt's and headed off to the water to fish. At first, we all used olive or black wooly buggers. A couple of hits, but no takers. I noticed a bit more activity on the surface, so I switched to a #16 Johns Magic Fly. I call it that because at the time I had NO idea what kind of fly it was. It was a hybrid fly tied by Jasons dad John. Jason had them in a small box for nearly 20 years! We had split up the box before the trip and I thought, why the hell not! They slammed the fly hard! That night, I was giddy catching and releasing nice chubby trout and could not wait to hit it the next morning.

Starkweather Lake

We woke up late the next morning and Will was bummed. He had some other engagement to go to that day and needed to head down the mountain and head home. When we got back to the lake, he took off on his long drive back to the bay area - but on his way caught sight of a black bear within the park limits. He quickly snapped a few shots from his drivers seat and drove home.

Back at Starkweather, Jason and I were catching fish left and right - sharing the water with only 2 shore pounders who flung worms in the water to unwilling trout - feasting on flies. In only a couple hours we caught so many fish that we were throwing anything to see if they we would get bit! I even began testing my new Kaenon Sunglasses to see which lens worked better to spot fish! The wind picked up soon after, and as the ripples grew, our dry flies sank and we knew it was time to head out. With the road behind us, I looked out my rear view mirror and watched the mountains fade away. Soon, some of the mountain roads would be impassible and our footprints would be gone. We left mammoth with a smile and hopefully cleaner than when we arrived. It wasn't much - but I wanted to share this experience with my son. And like many things that are priceless, the area can be taken away by heavy fees and roads and progress. Any little bit helps.

J

SMB

Successful Sale!

2008-03-22T13:04:00.000-07:00

When Nicole first approached me with having a garage sale two years ago, I threw it up there with the rest of her crazy ideas. Who the heck wants to get up at 6:30am and sell anything? Who in their right mind wants to go buy stuff from someone else at 6:30 in the morning? Well, having done this a couple times... many people. Its unbelievable how many people are looking for that one particular thing that is no longer sold in stores. Maybe its someone who is just looking for a deal. The bottom line is -- garage sales work on multiple levels.

First - you get paid for something that has probably sit in your closet or garage for a couple years (or even more).
Second - you get your space back.

For me, the key issue has always been space. We have two separate "one car" garages. Which means, by todays standards.. its a narrow garage not much bigger than your average parking space at Vons. With more kid stuff coming in than leaving (there always exists the potential for another child until one of us, gets our tubes cut), we have been struggling to find more storage. Nicole parks her car in one garage, so that pretty much leaves the majority of storage in the other. With all my large tools, and surfboards, there isn't much room to park my truck, much less our future van. But today, I'm free to design my garage the way I want to. We've sold a good portion of things we no longer use, which again means, which I will no longer store in my garage. I'm going to have to develop some nice shelves or cabinets to house my future junk.

For Nicole, I'm sure it was about selling. She tells me (and herself) that she hates to sell stuff. But quite honestly, she's a natural. I'm fairly sure she gets that from her Dad. She was wheeling and dealing, attempting to sell water to the Alhambra delivery guy. She was great. If you got your own salesperson at home... you aught to think of having a garage sale. I'm sure you have stuff filling up your house.