Entropy

Hot water flows over my scalp and down my face as steam clouds the room.  The cheap tile, flexible under my palm, without substance or support, is covered in uneven amounts of caulk from prior attempts at a superficial fix. Then the panic sets in. It erupts from some unknown place, insatiable and wretched. I don't know if it's the narrow confines of this shower or just the daily recognition that I am here, I am flesh, and I have a little more time.

This used to be my favorite part of each day--the warm, clean sensation of water on my skin. What a privileged existence we have. It's a tired and useless idea to imagine that in any time in human history, I would have been drawn to the water and made a ritual of bathing myself in it. All I can know is that I am here now and I have the complicated relationship with water that many of us share. But how did I get here? How did I arrive at a point where my morning shower is a source of stress, an awakening of desperation, a reminder of my internal conflicts and fragile mortality? And how can I be so unhappy when I have it so good compared to so many others across time and place?

I'm caught. I have so many passions and I can't say no. I'm ambitious. I always want what is just beyond reach and I never want the same thing for long. For years now, I've worked multiple jobs simultaneously to not only afford my impulsive desires but to fulfill my eager and unstoppable quest for more knowledge, more experience. 2015 is still young, but I've already been offered multiple jobs and have had one of my current jobs threatened. Over the years, I've invested a lot in myself in multiple fields, and I excel in each. I struggle with the notion of leaving an entire side of myself at the curb to propel myself fully into one field or another. I shudder at the thought of leaving something unfinished when I'm so far ahead.

More than anything, the constant exploitation wears me down. I find myself unfairly compensated in all my endeavors. I am good at what I do. I haven't found myself in an activity yet that I haven't gone above expectations and turned a few heads (with the grand exception of this shoddy blog!). I am a quick study. And I have the qualifications. But the problem I still run into every day is that everyone wants a great product, and no one wants to pay for it. I am constantly fighting for fair pay. I get satisfaction from my work, and I would love to give my employers or clients my best. But I refuse to do my best for their worst. When labor is all you own, and you know yours is top-notch, you don't give out more than a few samples. Then again, when labor is all you own, this world has you by the short hairs and doesn't feel the need for what they consider benevolence. They want you to give, but they won't give themselves. It's not an ego that I have. It's a tested self-awareness brewed with a healthy amount of empirical knowledge of how organizations screw their workers. Yet, I'm still willing to learn more from those who have been at these things longer. I'm not asking for much, in the scheme of things.

"Everyone wants a great product, and no one wants to pay for it."

Alongside my daily gear-switching from grading papers to guiding anglers to writing social theory, from teaching statistics to one group and fly-tying to another, that I have the other issues of contemporary adult life--yes, bills and marriage, but also family deaths and suicidal friends. You can plan your day or evening all you want, but everything collides and smashes and escapes your grip and self-proclaimed mastery when a close friend with whom you've shared so many laughs sends you a "goodbye," message.

I suppose what I'm getting at is entropy. To botch paraphrase the second law of thermodynamics, order moves toward disorder, and to achieve order requires more energy to be put into the system.  Life has shown me entropy lately. It requires immense amounts of energy to keep up, to meet expectations, to keep your affairs looking tidy. It's a messed up game. Because whether things are good or falling apart, in order or in disrepair, in bonding with a friend or grieving another, all I can muster is to go stand in the water.

Here's to cleaning up in 2015.

-TA

Sweet Smallmouth Photos!

I have been fishing and working so much lately, it's felt impossible to stop and reflect here on the blog. In line with that theme, I wanted to share someone else's work that you all will enjoy. See, I recently invited my friend Adam on a float for smallmouth bass. Adam is a phenomenal photographer and captured the day sharply on his website.

Have a look at the album (click the right side of pics to scroll through): http://www.adamalexanderphoto.com/#!/portfolio/G0000W6Kz37zVxB0/I0000hIHXUtFx7hQ

See more of Adam's work at adamalexanderphoto.com

-Tim

On the Glass--Graphite Divide

"I just don't care about glass rods." I found myself saying this in response to Cam Mortenson's recent article (here) after a friend forwarded it to me. That friend and I proceeded to have a constructive conversation on the case of Glass v. Graphite, resulting in some much needed reflection. Below are some of my arguments and resulting conclusions from that conversation:

I will use a glass rod if that's what I have (or what is available to me), and I get and respect the reasonable arguments that glass does well in-close (short-range shots), is generally accurate, and is very durable.  I totally get that they can land fish of many sizes and species, and they have a distinct look to them in a market dominated by graphite. But these are not "advantages" of glass over graphite (e.g. accuracy is often facilitated by slowing down casting stroke). In fact, they could be seen as limitations. Whereas one can make a graphite rod into a full-flex, mid-flex, tip-flex, or super-tip-flex, one can really only make "slow" (i.e. full-flex) glass rods. With graphite, you can make a 3-weight rod anywhere from 6'-10' long and it will still be light enough for the weakest among us to fish all day without tiring. Hell, you could even make it a 7-piece pack rod and the weight would still be fairly negligible.  One could paint the blank whatever color you want (and frankly, I wish the graphite industry move a little faster on giving us livelier options).

But authors promoting glass often conflate action with material, and even action with advantage. This is what bothers me most. Graphite rods do not have to be broomsticks. The flyfishing industry has seen an accelerated movement toward constructing stiffer and stiffer graphite rods over the last 2 decades. This may have opened the door for the glass renaissance. But it is still valid to criticize the broomstick movement from within the graphite arena. You don't have to throw graphite out with the bathwater. There is still a diversity of graphite rod actions available from which to choose.

And this is where I think we should be moving the conversation: Rather than glass versus graphite--like some kind of material-based team identity constantly duking it out--we should debate under what conditions certain flex profiles ("actions") are advantageous. When is a super-stiff rod better than a mid-flex? In what situations is a mid-flex better? How about a super-slow or full-flex rod? Many people have already written about this topic, and yet it still resolves into identity politics (e.g. "I'm a tip-flex guy").

One conclusion from such writings and observations, and reinforced in my own fishing, is that slow rods, including many glass, shine in the 10-40' range. This is a distance where many fish are caught, and it is surprisingly important in both fresh- and saltwater. Rising trout in Driftless spring creeks is a common thought, but how about sight-casting redfish from the bow of a poling skiff? In the later scenario, single fish sometimes pop up right next to the boat, and a slower rod can be an advantage. Maybe a mid-flex is the more versatile, but you get my point. Conversely, when blind casting 70'+ from a beach with dunes behind you and rising surf in front, or when chucking 10" musky flies on sinking lines, an ultra-fast tip-flex rod is your best ally. You want something that can turn it over, punch in the wind, and do it quickly, without wimping out. You'll forget your blog- or forum-loyalties when the frustration of the "wrong gear" mounts.

So you've heard my point. If not, here it is: reducing the complexity of rod engineering to a dichotomy of materials-as-identities dumbs us down and can create a poor fit between gear and conditions, and, not to mention, unnecessary drama. Was that clearer?

And let's not forget, this is fly-fishing. Unless you are working in the industry full-time, it's probably not life or death. In fact, we fish with fly gear and not bait because we can, because we don't need, because we aren't desperate for food, and because we want to set ourselves apart from those who use other gear. Ultimately, it's a privileged passion. Let's not let it get to our heads.

Florida's Forgotten Coast

Zeph said it best after the trip: "I think the Captains were as stunned by the effects of the weather as the fish were."

If you remember from my recent post, there were Polar-Vortex-related hiccups getting down to Florida for some wintertime R&R. We ended up spending three quarters of Day 1 in the airport, swapping fish fantasies and eating overpriced junk food while our flight got delayed further and further. But we made it to our destination in St. Augustine before midnight safe and sound.

A call to Capt. James Dumas of Drum Man Charters tipped us off to a DIY spot to get us started. Zeph, Tiff, and myself loaded up on small bluefish at a nearby inlet despite 25-knot winds and 35 degree air temps (hey, at least it was 50 degrees warmer than Chicago!). It had gotten down to 24 degrees the night before, which was the coldest the area had seen in 2 decades. At least little bluefish don't care.

Having wiped the trip skunk off early, we moved on to our main goal: redfish. To hedge our bets, we booked 2 half day trips with local guides--Capt. James Dumas of St Augustine and Capt John Botko of Jacksonville.  Over the phone, both guides seemed optimistic as fishing had been off the charts before the cold snap (when isn't that the case?) and suggested such a short snap wouldn't affect the fishing noticeably (why do guides do this to themselves?). 

First up was Capt. James, aka the "Drum Man." He showed a good instinct when we jumped on board and he told me my flies were too big. He handed me what looked like a bonefish slider with extra-small lead eyes to tie on. He had warned of high winds, but none of us were ready for the chill of being up on plane that day. We poled up tiny creek after tiny creek, which got us all in the mood for some winter reds. But the fish were strangely absent, and James seemed surprised at how low the water was. 

It took us half of the half-day to find fish. That doesn't mean they cooperated. With high winds there was a chop on the water even in the little creeks, which left us blind to the fish's movements until we were on already top of them. They spooked quickly. Often they snuck right past our noses and under our boat without us noticing. We kept blind casting around oyster bars and deeper holes, sometimes putting a fly several times through an area we'd later find was full of fish. No takers. We moved to a spot where another captain had been catching small reds on bait but was leaving a few for us. A few casts and a few fly changes later, we caught some redfish on fly and Tiff got her first couple reds ever on bait. 

Our time (and then some) was up but James felt bad about the fishing, so he stopped a flooding flat near an old bridge that he said would have some bluefish and possibly trout around. We didn't find more than one bluefish, but I think that's because this seatrout (my personal best) ate them all:

See that faint brown and white in her mouth? That'd be my fly.

Seatrout = yum. 

All in all it was a decent day, but it required a lot of work from Capt James and us anglerfolk to put some fish in the boat during the coldest weather of the 21st century.  James is a hardworking guide and a great guy to share the boat with. I recommend you give him a call if you check out the St. Auggie area. 

We did a little more DIY fishing in the meantime, but never hit the tides right for the kind of action we saw the first time out. At least it was getting warmer and the wind was laying down. I did manage this nice surprise:

The second guide trip saw Zeph and myself aboard the skiff of Capt. John Botko. Everyone that we told we were going with John had a positive response. The dude is kind of a local legend. He is known to have secret schools of double-digit-sized redfish that only he can find. Needless to say, our excitement was high. It was even higher when we arrived to see the conditions for the day:

John showed us fish all day long. We had no shortage of fish to cast at. But they weren't having it. They didn't want to play, at least not with our flies. It wasn't for our performance, either, at least according to John; at one point, John told Zeph, "I'm gonna start calling you 'Lefty' with the way you're laying line out." That's a hell of a compliment if I ever heard one. 

And Zeph did have his fly around some fish, including some very large ones for that area. But they didn't want the fake stuff. Feathers and fur weren't cutting it, at least not on the strip. To give us some faith, John had me throw a live minnow on a jig into the water where Zeph was casting. About 10 seconds later, I was tied into a 10lber.

We had blown all our shots at 100 big redfish before we realized they probably were so cold and lazy that they wanted the slowest, easiest, and most realistic meal. We swapped flies for mud minnow imitations and headed to a spot John said would have 5-10lb fish. Well, the size was a bit exaggerated, and we were headed into hour 6 of our 4-hour tour, but we found a few players.

We had accomplished our goal of redfish on flies, and amongst some of the tightest lockjaw these captains had ever seen. The weather was warming, and the nightmare of the Polar Vortex was a fading memory. It was time, however, that we return to the cold fishless winter of Chicago as our visit to this beautiful stretch of nature's nursery was over. I already miss Saint Augustine, a town that has so much charm and so many fish yet doesn't seem to get much press or many crowds. I could get used to this forgotten coast, and I hope to return another day... 

2014 season gets off, with hitch

Well, I had a feeling 2013 was going to be hard to top. It was perhaps my best fishing year to date--certainly in the running for the title. But on New Year's Eve, the snow starting coming down here in Chicago, and by Jan. 1, 2014 it was a nightmare. That storm just began to stop dumping snow, hundreds of flights in the midwest still delayed, people on hold for hours, and the roads were dismal if you could even see them--when all the sudden the forecast called for an even worse storm. Now we are in full blown Snowpocalypse with a foot of snow on the ground.  Chicago in 2014 has yet to catch a break.

I bring this up because I have had a trip to St. Augustine, FL planned for this week.  I've got guides booked for 2 days and I've even shipped some gear down there to wait for me. But this morning, I found out my flight for tomorrow was cancelled.  Tiffany was possibly going to be stuck pulling a straight 24-hour double shift at the hospital--such is the life of a nurse in an emergency. But alas, with a little time, a moderate amount of anxiety and miscommunication, and luck, things are starting to look up. We changed our flight times twice but are now scheduled to leave tomorrow on a non-stop flight to Jacksonville, and Tiffany got to come home tonight and get some rest.

The weather down South isn't much better, relatively speaking. We'll arrive to a cold snap that will certainly put the fish down for a while. It will actually get down to 23F tomorrow night in St Augustine. Wild. We'll still wet a line, as you can't catch fish without hooks in the water.

Wish us luck.

I'll be back in time to see you all at our monthly bar flies event, Chi-Tie, on Jan. 13, when I'll demo some slider patterns. For more info, click here.

Cheers to 2014,

-Tim

Holiday Alley

For Turkey Day this year, I returned to Ohio to visit some relatives. The food was plentiful and delicious, and it was definitely one of my many things to be thankful for. But I was also thankful to have a few spare hours to sneak away with my brother-in-law and fishing buddy, Shane, to prospect for silver in the Lake Erie area's famed "Steelhead Alley." 

To facilitate our rendezvous with the oversized rainbow trout, I had been in contact with longtime online pal and professional guide, Bob Steelheading White (no, really, steelheading is his social-media middle name). Bob guides for Ohio Steelhead Drifters, and has been fishing the Lake Erie tributaries since he was a child. And if his biography isn't enough, Bob is constantly posting pictures of his swung-up hens and bucks on social media.  I knew he was good resource.  We set the time and place, and he said he and his friend Tim Pilarczyk would be fishing streamers while Shane and I floated egg flies under indicators.  Perfect--all our bases covered. 

Bob knows the pose. 

The forecast promised a notably warmer day than what had been, but the morning was nippier than expected. To make things worse, the many limestone cliffs that have been carved away by centuries of erosion can put a shorter window on the sun's appearance.  It's something I'm certainly not used to when fishing my regular streams on the flat geography of Wisconsin and Indiana. Bob and Tim were rigged and ready when Shane and I rolled up. We needed no additional motivation to bundle up quickly, so we were on the pine-laden trail in no time, dodging fallen trees and splashing through feeder creeks. With the recent snowfall, the scene was idyllic--a winter steelheader's dream.

_______________________________________

"I'm a big believer in, if you're keeping the flies in the water, the fish gods will smile upon you. Something will happen."

-Bob Steelheading White

_______________________________________

We settled into the inside of a wide run where the water dropped off alongside the steep cliff of the other bank. Believing it was worth fishing thoroughly, Bob and Tim got to work finding dry branches and building a fire. A few hours into the day, and it was still easily below freezing.  Roll casts became a thing of increasing force and decreasing style as Shane's and my rod guides froze solid to the fly line. 

It wasn't long, however, before fish began to warm us with a rise in bloodflow and adrenaline.  Not even three casts after Bob showed Shane some pointers on getting a good indicator drift, Shane was hooked into a solid fish. I ran for my good camera,  only to return in time to see Shane's head tilt back in agony as he let out a sigh of frustration. The fish had one last charge of energy and avoided being tailed and photographed this time.  Bob consoled Shane, "It's alright, dude. You did everything right."

There's something so beautifully rhythmic to this fishing. Drift, drift, drift. Indicator disappears. Set. Log? Stay tight. Head shakes. Slack line. F***! Cast. Drift. Mend. Indicator disappears. Set. Fish on! 

Small, but dime-bright and dozens of miles from the lake

I even managed to catch a decent steelhead. Sure, it was cookie-cutter in size, but it was a gorgeous colored-up male that wanted the hell out of my egg. I'll take it everyday of the week with no complaints. 

    

________________________________________

"I want my client to have the real steelheading 

experience." 

-Bob Steelheading White

_________________________________________

Bob is on the water for at least a few casts seven days a week.  He prefers to swing sparse streamers on his switch rod, but he has a local reputation for being dangerously good with the "indi-rig." He's been known to outfish everyone around him on the crowded days that Ohio steelheaders know all too well. After showing me and Shane some water and a couple literal handfuls of potadromous trout, the allure of duck hunting's opening day of the season pulled Bob away. He left us in the hands of the very capable Tim Pilarczyk for the short remainder of the day.  

Tim showed us some of the lower stretches of the river and some of his favorite runs for finding aggressive fish to slam a swung bug.  Tim also fishes at least a few hours everyday, and boasts an impressive ~60 swung fish last season (The day after I left, he got 3 steelies and 2 walleye on the swing).  I took this opportunity to watch and get some pointers on my switch cast.  I probed here and there with my indicator rig to no avail.  Shane, on the other hand, scored living proof of some natural reproduction among these amazing fish.

Wild Ohio Chrome

All in all, it was a fantastic day with lots to be thankful for. Now I just can't wait to go back! 

Some swingers don't need company :)

If you crave winter chrome and want to fish the Erie tribs, I highly recommend you look up Ohio Steelhead Drifters and request Bob White.  He also has these same rivers dialed for chubby lake-run smallmouth bass once the steelhead return to the lake.  When you're ready to catch fish, give him a call. I'm thinking a day in Steelhead Alley would make a pretty nice Christmas gift...  

ISA Flyfishing & Flytying Show Tomorrow!

Just a heads-up that I will be tying tomorrow at the "Early Show" put on by the Illinois Smallmouth Alliance, with my buddy Dave Kuntzelman, representing Chi-Tie and Orvis Chicago. This show is always a good time--a great place to see different flytying styles, hear interesting presentations, network with other anglers and writers, and nab deals on fishing goodies.  There will be hot lunch options available for purchase as well, so you can stay and hang out all day if you'd like.

The show will take place 8am-5pm, Saturday, Nov. 2, 2013

The address for the event is:
VFW Post 1197
645 River St. 
Batavia, IL 60510

This location is directly on the Fox river, where good smallmouth and muskie fishing is available. Bring your gear and fish before, during, or after the show!

For more details, visit this page.