Family Post: Fishing and More

A fishing trip with Sebastian soon became a rolling rocks, getting rained on, taking shelter in the truck, getting rained on again, seeing a rainbow, and running around trip. It was the best.

Youth Sports Post: Iris Trophies

It has not been unusual in the past for me to post photos of youth sports. Both of my sons have been involved in sports for the past eight or nine years. That meant we were involved, too.

That changed over this past year, and now neither son is active in organized sports. I miss it.

So imagine my delight a few weeks ago to see this photo of my granddaughter Iris just embarking on her sporting career. She just turned four, and she's all kitted out and taking over the pitch.

Imagine my further delight to receive this photo today of Iris and her best friend posing with their trophies. I believe these are participation trophies, but they couldn't be prouder or happier if they had won the World Cup. 

I couldn't either. Nicely done, girls.

Isaiah and Jeremiah, eat your hearts out.

Family Post: Birth of an Angler

My grandson Sebastian was with us over the weekend. It was high time to load up with worms and supplies and go fishing again.

You might recall that on his first trip we didn't catch anything, and Sebastian fell in the lake. I wondered whether that might dampen his enthusiasm for this trip. No worries. He was eager to get his hands on his fishing rod again.

This time the dock was free, and bluegills were back in numbers, schooling in its shadow. We baited up and Sebastian went to work. It wasn't long before he caught his very first fish ever. Let the record show that he achieved this milestone at three years of age. Way to go, kid.

He threw it back in himself, and went back to work again, and, yep, caught another one. (Thanks, bluegills.) He tried to throw this one in, too, but he discovered those needle-like spines in a gill's dorsal fin, and decided throwing fish back in was Grandpa's job.

Catching them was his job, and catch them he did. I didn't keep count, but I'd say it was seven or eight. Maybe more. He was a fishing machine.

(I think he takes after his Mom, my daughter Lidia. She used to fish with me at Trout Lake, and did very well, including a 20+ inch Rainbow caught on a little caddis dry. My hope is to get her and Sebastian to Trout Lake for some fishing from the canoe. Can't wait for him to catch a trout.)

I decided we should try another lake where he might be able to graduate to bigger bluegills. We got there and set up on a canal where my son Jeremiah and I used to have luck. As I was baiting the rod Sebastian discovered what Jeremiah had discovered before him: there are lots of good rocks here to throw in the water.

I cast the bait out into likely spots, but we got nary a bite. So we moved down to where the canal enters the lake and tried there. No bites here, either. But Sebastian didn't care. It was a hot day, and there was a perfect place for wading. So first his shoes and socks and jeans came off.

Then his shirt. Someday he will be able to say truthfully that he's been fishing since he was in diapers.

Finally everything came off and he was Mowgli by the jungle watering hole. (Jeremiah, in his day, went in at this exact spot.)

Meanwhile, nothing was biting. It was finally time to go. He really didn't want to leave, so I promised him we'd go fishing again the next day.

And we did. We went back to the dock, ate some lunch (say "Cheese!") and then offered some lunch to the bluegills.

Sebastian knew just how to do it.

Bingo.

The smile says it all. I think the population of anglers has definitely increased by one.

Sebastian's Baptism Into Fishing

I had been planning this for awhile, and the opportunity finally came. I took Sebastian out on his very first fishing trip.

He was so excited he took a power nap on the drive so he would be in peak condition for the fishing.

It was a pretty afternoon, in the 70's. The leaves and blossoms are popping out all over.

Sebastian wouldn't wake up when we got to the lake (it had been a busy weekend and he was due for a good nap.) So I took the opportunity to rig up his new rod. This is actually his second rod. He had a light-up Spiderman rod before, but he was a little rough on it before we ever got to try it out, and broke the tip off.

This new rod is a pretty little thing, and it has no connection whatsoever with any superhero or kid's movie. There were plenty of those at the store, so I held up a Marvel Heroes rod and this plain one, and he chose the plain one. Nice one, Sebastian.

I checked on Sebastian again, and he still wasn't ready to wake up. So I broke out the crawlers and gave the little rod a try. I wanted to see what we were up against here.

We were at Bass Lake, and in the summer it's choked with bluegills and perch. You can't beat them off with a stick when you show them a bit of crawler on a hook. I was hoping that might be Sebastian's first experience of fishing, but we were still a bit early. There were no fish to be seen, and I didn't find any by prospecting around as far as I could cast.

I checked Sebastian and this time he woke up. It took him awhile to remember where we were, but then he was eager to hop down and check things out. I showed him how to reel, and went over again the particulars of the hook, the bait, and the bobber. Especially the bobber: keep your eyes on that bobber. Then I cast it out and let him reel it in. He handled it well.

There was a good sign at that point: as soon as he had reeled it in he tried to cast it out again all by himself. He took a vicious swing with the rod. Almost caught me with it. So I helped him cast, and he reeled in, and he was digging it.

We moved over to another spot on the shoreline, and I was encouraged again to see him running, eager to get there. I set him up on a little outcropping, and we went at it again. He kept a sharp eye on the bobber.

And then he fell in. That outcropping was the only level spot on the steeply sloping bank, so I thought he'd be safest there. But he took a step just a little too far to the right, his foot slid into the water, he lost his balance, spun around and sat down in the lake. He didn't like that.

I had been thinking about how to deal with his disappointment at not catching anything, or, worse, with his getting bored after awhile. But that wasn't necessary. It was clearly time to quit.

I told him on the way home that Grandpa had fallen in lots of times (not lying), and that all fishermen fall in sometimes. I also talked about the next time we go fishing--focusing on the fish we'd catch on that trip (also not lying--I'll make it happen). By the time we got home he could tell his Mom and Grandma that he fell in and smile about it.

I'd call that a real baptism into fishing. We'll see if he's like me, but if he is, he's thinking, "Dang! Just when I was getting the hang of it, I fall in! Can't wait to get out there and give it another try."

A Big, Beautiful Rainbow

Sebastian, our three-year-old grandson, just started attending Day Care. Yesterday he brought home his first coloring project.

Rocky Ford Creek Report: Life Is Good

Another mild Friday calls you to Rocky Ford. You make your way carefully through the fog in a southerly direction. When you get there you can tell the temp has hit it's predicted high in the upper 40's. That's better than the upper 30's, but with the damp and wind it just makes you long for that first really warm day. It will come.

You gear up and then take out that round packing tube. You ordered a new rod as a birthday present for yourself, and it got to the house just as you were ready to leave. Happy birthday to you.

Nothing fancy; in fact, a $49.95 special. But it looks good and feels good when you whip it in the parking lot. You string it up and hike down to the creek.

The chilly wind is making some lovely riffles. You tie on a muddler and begin to cast and strip, etching lines across the water's opaque surface.

A fish likes the look of that. It comes up from beneath and sucks in the fly.

Another fish likes it, too. This one lunges and comes down on the fly. It's a good, heavy rainbow that looks like it's been around the block a few times.

The muddler doesn't get any more attention, so you clip it off for another day. This is one of your muddler ties that survived the season at Trout Lake. It took its share of fish there. Good to see it still taking fish.

You try some dries. Bear's Paw and Callibaetis get a swirl or two with a brisk strip. But no hookups. You like the rod, though. It's stiff enough to easily shoot out the long line necessary for this Rocky Ford bank fishing, and it's 9 foot length keeps the backcast above the cattails--when the wind doesn't collapse the loop.

You go subsurface with a scud. There are days where the fish are on it instantly. This is not one of those days.

But you target rises and wakes and eventually fool an excitable teen.

You select the Red Tag wet, thinking you don't fish enough wet flies here. As if to confirm that thought, you get a quick take. Alan, at Small Stream Reflections, would be pleased. He said that would be the fly.

Then, in short order, another fish on the Red Tag. This one comes from the side, rolling to make the grab. It's one of those hits that make you exclaim with pleasure.

You think you've come up with the perfect system, but the house wins out again. No more hits on the Red Tag. You go back to a muddler.

It works twice. Both fish are wired. The second fish won't stay still for a headshot.

By then its getting dark. If they liked the muddler, they'd surely like a mouse. You tie one on and begin to work the water. Way out in mid river you get a series of bumps and misses. Little guys, you think, but they're hot. You keep going back to them, swimming that mouse under their noses, and get a hook up. Nice.

And again. Pretty.

You keep long-lining out to that channel, and number three hits and sticks. It's a mouse fest!

You work that mouse some more, probing the shorelines and the areas around the cattail islands, still hoping for that monster lying somewhere looking for a big meal. But that will do it.

You pack up and hit the road. The fog is still thick on the flats. You have plenty of time to reflect on a very good day at Rocky Ford.

It was a very good day, but it's going to get better. Twenty minutes from home you stop and pick up your grandson Sebastian.

He's coming to Grandpa and Grandma's house for another fun weekend.

Life is good.