The Blowing Wind

Well, the wind is blowing, the wind has blown, the sand is scattering across the desert floor. Last year was a heck of a year, the fishing left much to be desired here in the San Diego and Baja Norte region. The economics of the era I suppose left much to be desired as well. I lost a job, collected unemployment, found a job, lost a close family member to cancer, lost my family's home, borrowed money from family members, something I never thought I would do, and just in general was humbled by this big cold world. Now, on the lighter side, I found the things that really matter, the things that really bring value to this life. I have pictures that I want to share, but my computer is as dysfunctional as me so no luck!Ha! My family whether by luck or thread is still here, and still beautiful. Man I love this life, and crave the changes and pain that is deals. I don't pretend to be a Yoda but I sure do appreciate the experience and time this world and it's creator has afforded me. I have come to realize that this world and the life and death that it brings with it, are gifts.... they both play into eachother in exquisite melodious helixes. It is almost as if the harmony that is within the hurt and joy that we call life is an ablsolute answer to the pathetic existential question that we the human race find necessary to quandary our selves with. Why are we here? What am I supposed to do? What is my purpose? It's simple......................... Live. Live like there is no tomorrow, because in many cases, there is not.

Well, we all know the truth I suppose... if we hear it and decide to listen to it. It is whether we decide to listen to it sooner rather than later.




This year 2011, while on the surface may not be looking as pretty and smooth as I would like, is actually looking quite good. Jobs are being found, shoot, maybe not the apex position, but I even found one, and it is allowing me to do something I find purpose in..... Building things, no matter on what scale. Whether a small Interior improvement, or an extremely complex congeneration plant upgrade at a major institution, it gives me purpose, and gratification, and even better.....Time. Time to think about what I am going to do tomorrow. I have an idea, I've always been good at that, ideas; my down fall has always been the execution of those ideas. God, that's right, I said it, God, has given me the opportunity to consider the execution of some of those ideas. One of those ideas, is these words that I am writing right now. I even have a book to finish, one that I have half finished and put my heart and soul into. It is a true story, and for whatever it is worth, a portion of its journey once finished will define me.

So here is to everyone, everyone that has hurt and experienced hard times over the past year and years. Cheers to your hurt, thank you for your sacrafice. Your pain is not for nothing, but rather for something. You are a Dad, a Mom, an Uncle, a Son, a Daughter, a brother, a sister, a Friend......... a Cowboy, a Soldier, a Fire Fighter, a Police Man, or just as important, a painter, an electrician, a builder, a construction worker, an American, and a Human, part of the foundation of the world, part of the foundation of life. Suck it up, drink the liquor, the drink of life. Wake up, take a deep breath and open your eyes. It hurts,and it feels good. It's life.

When I started fishing

Since my blog is about Fishing to an extent, I figured I would talk a little about when and were I started fishing, and what it means to me. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, Southwest Washington to be specific. I was born in a small mill town off of the Columbia River, Longview Washington. This was a blue collar town through and through, nearly everyone did one of three things;worked for Weyerhaeuser Lumber mill, long shore-men or they were loggers. My family did all of the above, with the exception of one attorney. When these people weren't working, they were either Hunting, Fishing, or watching the high school sport of the season. Even though my parents were divorced when I was very young and I lived with my Mother, she made sure that by the time I was seven I had my first push button Zebco and tackle box full of sinkers and hooks to lose.

One thing that stands out in my mind was the Columbia river Smelt run. Along the banks of the Cowlitz River a Columbia tributary near where I was born, Hundreds of people used to line the banks of the river with long netted poles and 5 gallon buckets during the cold early months of the year. Why would they do such a bizarre thing you ask? Well the Smelt a small oily but tasty fish used to traverse the Columbia and Cowlitz rivers to their native spawning grounds.This Provided the opportunity for "Smelt Dipping" as it was coined. That in fact was what everyone was doing with those long netted poles. With the weather cold and all the men building small fires along the river and taking nips of their flasks, they would dip the long netted poles into the river and extract literally gobs of 5-8" Smelt. Not only were they tasty as heck when they were smoked or fried, but they made some of the best Sturgeon bait around. Many of the men would fill their bucket with live Smelt and then run up river to cast them on sinkers out ahead of the runs to try and catch a prize Sturgeon, or they would cure and freeze them and use them later in the season. It was 1980 and Mt St. Helen's had not blown its stack yet. I was 6 years old and trying my best to stay out of the way as my Grandfather(pictured behind me above) and some of his friends from the mill and neighbors rushed to fill their buckets with the long poled nets. I stayed warm by the fire and tried to cast my Zebco far enough into the river with a small lure to catch Smelt on my pole, my failure resulted in me filling an extra bucket with water and several Smelt and fishing for them with a hand line and a hook. Since that time I have been fascinated obsessed and frustrated while trying to get fish to place themselves on my hook. I still remember the taste of those smoked fish with saltine crackers all those years ago. I haven't lived in Washington since 1991, and the Smelt haven't had a good run since 2003. In fact after Mt. St Helen's blew and the Cowlitz ended up being about 2 feet deep from the ash flow, the Smelt have been very sparse, even bordering on extinct. Nonetheless those Smelt were my first exposure to fishing, and 30 years later I still think of them.

As time went by I fished for whatever I could, my friends and I used to go down to the creek near our house and fish for Crawdads. We would tie a paper clip some fishing line and bait it with hot dogs, the crawdads would grab on to the bait and we would pull them out of the hollows. By this time was nine years old my Mother had remarried and while my Step Father and I were going through a challenging adjustment period, the one thing that we happened to have in common was that he was an avid and addicted angler. He grew up in Tillamook on the Oregon Coast, his entire youth he fished the Trask river and other tributary's for Salmon and Steelhead. He also fished the saltwater estuaries and inlets for snapper and perch, and learned whatever he could over time from his father and the many local old timers that new every inch of their local coast. After high School my Step Father went to work in the woods for awhile as logger, he fished when he could but probably hunted more at that time. Shortly thereafter the with Vietnam in full swing in 1968 he was drafted and began his stint in the Army. When he returned home he went back to work in the woods away from his home town of Tillamook and relocated to The Clark County area of Washington. He began at this time learning how to approach a whole new Fishery, that of the Columbia river and two of its main tributaries the North and East forks of the Lewis River. Not only did he fish for Chinook Salmon, and Steelhead, he also fished the Columbia RIver next to the Bonneville Dam for massive Sturgeon. One evening shortly after he married my mother he asked if I wanted to go with him in the morning fishing. I was ecstatic, I had never been out to where he was fishing on the lewis river, I had just turned 10 and after seeing my Step Fathers pictures of huge Salmon and Steelhead that he had caught over the years I couldn't wait to get in the game. The next morning when I was in the deepest phase of REM sleep at about 4 am a burly voice beckoned me out of my slumber, "Toe Head! are you going or what?" He flicked my bedroom light on and off like a strobe light as he smiled a little sadistically. It was late summer in Southwest Washington, and while a little chilly at that time of morning it was going to be a beautiful day. I felt like I was being welcomed into a secret fraternity, with few cars on the road, my Dad with a cigarette hanging from his Mustached face and a cup of coffee in one hand he guided our Ford to the North Fork of the Lewis river. We arrived at a place affectionately coined the Meathole just before sunrise, the Meathole was actually a deep section on a westerly bend of the rapidly flowing river just below the Lewis River Fish Hatchery's. This place was popular with all of the local fisherman of the area with accesible boat launches on both sides of the river and plenty of shallow shore spots for all of us shore fishing guys. My Dad pulled up to the spot and faced the truck out to the river, he killed the lights and rubbed his hands together rapidly as he always did and still does to this day. He poured a little more coffee from his banged up thermos and lit another generic cigarette as he surveyed the water level of the river. I asked curiously what he was looking at so intently, he told me he was waiting to see the game warden pull away from the other side of the river signaling day break so that we could get into the spot and start fishing. Only a few other hard core fisherman were waiting, my Dad hopped out the old Ford and set to discussing various baits and strategies with the other men, all of whom he seemed to know by name, if he didn't know theirs for some reason they all knew his. I lingered around unsure of what I was really supposed to do, I knew that on this day I wouldn't actually be fishing but I hoped to be right near the action nonetheless.

After my Dad and the other men finished smoking and talking he came back over to the truck, rolled up the sleeves on his flannel shirt, pulled up his hip waders that had been folded down, and threw on his tackle vest from the seat of the truck. He took his two piece G Loomis rod out the rifle rack that had a low profile bait casting Shimano reel on it, I didn't even know what I was looking at but to me it looked way cooler than my Zebco. On this day I would learn about the staple fishing method on the Lewis River, drift fishing. We didn't have much back then, but my Dad made sure he had one quality rig and at least one decent back up, it was a good thing,because even in the worst of times he put many a fine meal on our dinner table with it.Afer he assembled his rod he deftly tied on hook with a 36" leader to a black snap swivel. The Snap Swivel was important because it allowed him to swap out different rigs quicker. Most pre fishing nights were spent at the dining room table pre tying Egg Snelled hooks, Glo Corkys, and various others depending on the season. On the snap swivel was something odd that I had never seen, it kind of looked like a worm but it wasn't. In fact it was an ingenious little device that had been fashioned as a sinker, approximatly four inches of hollow core 3/8 nylon parachute cord that was filled with 10-12 pieces of double-ought buck shot. Sealed on both ends by melting with a lighter, the angler could adjust the weight of the drift rig by adding or reducing the amount of shot. This style of weight we called worm shot, it connected easily to the swivel, and moved through the drift easily with out hanging up on structure thanks to its flexation. On this day at the end of the leader was a 1/O #7 Eagle Claw barb shanked hook.The hook was tied with a snell and an egg loop as I would later learn and had a small maybe quarter inch orange and yellow corky ball just above it. My Dad pulled out a used cottage cheese container and from that took out a zip lock baggy full of orange gritty looking fish eggs. He placed the baggy in one of the pouches of his tackle vest and motioned me to follow. We hiked a short distance down to the bank of the fast flowing river, "don't throw any rocks and stay close by Toe head" he stated as he waded out into the river. It was still very early and the sun was not yet visable down in the draw of the river. The air was chilly and to me just smelled like fish, a foggy haze seemed to linger over the river as the people with drifts boats and jet sleds slid by in the current. Other anglers were near by but everyone gave eachother plenty of space. My Dad took out a small cluster of eggs and placed them on his hook. By pushing some line back through the eye of the hook he took the egg loop and wound it around the cluster a couple times to keep it secure. After completing this process he slung the whole rig up river about 60 yards, I watched as he followed his rig in the drifting current with the tip of his pole watching every bounce of the rod tip as it jittered slightly from rock to rock on the rivers bottom. I continued to to observe shivering from the shore as he repeated the process again and again occasionally stopping to re bait. I liked the fact that this type of fishing was an active process, not just sitting and staring at the water, but I was losing interest quickly with the absence of a fish. Just as I was thinking that very thought I saw my Dad rock back and yank the rod straight back to his shoulder. The tip bent over drastically and he started reeling furiously, over and over reeling the rod tip down to the water and pulling back, all the while keeping the line tight. I watched with anticipation as he fought the fish for what seemed like an eternity, finally my Dad backed out the water as he brought the fish to the bank. I stared in amazement at the flopping 20 pound Chinook Salmon, I exclaimed "We gotta fish!" before I could even contain myself, My Dad smiled as he tended to the fish, I jumped up and down a little bit as I began rapid firing questions. He patiently answered the best he could while he re rigged his gear and headed back into the water. "We gotta hit'em while there biting toehead." and sure enough with in the next 40 minutes he landed three more big beautiful Salmon with one easily over 30 pounds. The last one felt light so my Dad brought the pole up to the bank and let me reel it in, I could hardly breathe. He coached me to keep the rod tip up and reel down, before I knew it I was in the river up to my knees as my Dad help my belt loop. It seemed like the fight lasted for hours but it was only a few minutes, one thing was for sure, I was on top of the world, and I was hooked for life.

As the months went by I continued to join my Dad on trips to the river. When the fall and winter runs came in we were chasing them where ever they were. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest I was used to the cold but not like some of the mornings I experienced on that river. I remember not being able to feel my nose, my lips being so numb I couldn't move them, and my fingers moving like they were stuck in clay. It didn't matter, I wanted to be tough and I wanted to catch fish so I stuck it out. In the picture above, my Dad gave me my very first full set up for Christmas. It was a tough time for our family, but my Dad went out of his way to make sure I had a good rig for the river, and a real set of hip waders so that I could fish with the big boys. The next day we were on the river and I couldn't have been more proud, I was no longer stuck on the bank, I could wade in the drift and really fish. As the years went by, I kept fishing, and eventually we got a fiberglass Drift Boat. It changed the way we fished and the areas that we could fish, we got a propane heater to go in the boat and life was good.

Well that's enough rambling to myself for now. The next post will be about the evolution as an angler, how I arrived at the current journey that I am on now, and my recent experience at sharing fishing with my two daughters.

Blogger Buzz: Blogger integrates with Amazon Associates

Blogger Buzz: Blogger integrates with Amazon Associates

Writing and Fishing

Well, this is my first posting. Right now I am sure the only people to read this will be my wife and me. Hopefully in time there will be time and insight worth sharing with others on this blog. This blog is an expression of a wide array of things, it is an expression and a venue for me to share my passion of Saltwater Angling, writing, life, family,business, fitness, travel, and being a man in todays american culture. Everyone has a story to tell,and something to say, to an extent this place will be mine.