Preying On The Past

My theme as of late has been reflecting on times gone by. So, as I was dog sitting over the weekend on beautiful Weeks Bay (a small estuary of Mobile Bay), I went for a run along county road 1. During my run, surprisingly, soaring about 100ft overhead was a mature bald eagle. This encounter turned my brain a bit as I began to think about some of my favorite birds of prey moments. Most of these occasions transpired during my 2 years in Colorado, even though I saw lots of birds of prey in my four months in the Alaska bush.

Just so all of you know, I am a HUGE birds of prey guy. They all enrapture me and when I see one I stop dead in my tracks to gaze in wild wonder at the beautiful bird; but on this instance, I was running and did a slow spin around mid stride to catch every glimpse of this rare sight, nearly falling in midst of my paces.

Bald eagles are a rare sight in most places, except in Alaska where they are as abundant as sea gulls are here along the Gulf Coast. We do, however, have some resident bald eagles nesting in the Mobile Bay area. With that said, I grew up here and I have spent countless days on the water ways of the Mobile Bay watershed. This was only the third or fourth bald eagle that I have seen in the Mobile Bay area. So a rare moment indeed.

My most memorable eagle rendezvous happened in late winter of 2010 at the 4UR Ranch. My buddy, Andy, was a waterfowl guide and outfitter in the fall and winter months in the San Louis Valley of Colorado. It is a very productive, halfway unknown, area of the central flyway for migrating birds and waterfowl. The Canadian geese are particularly thick on this flyway. Duck season had ended but goose were still in season and Andy said lets go, so we did. It is always nice to go goose hunting with a professional because, a hunter, I am not. We managed to kill some geese and cleaned them when we returned home to the ranch. We discarded the carcasses about a mile east of the main ranch building near the pump house (the building that houses the water pump and water tank that provides water for the ranch). The next day we decided to go back and see what kind of tracks or signs of animals that had feasted on the remains of the geese. We never dreamed of what would arise.

We approached on Andy's 4 wheeler, and as we came over a hill, we saw an object near the spot where we dumped the carcasses. It didn't take long for us to see that it was a large golden eagle picking apart the remains of our hunt. We eased ever closer to this massive bird, and we came within about a hundred yards or so. Then, the next minute or so felt like slow motion as the golden eagle began to fly towards us. You could hear and almost feel every thrash of it's wings as it continued to stay airborne just feet above the snow pack. The bird was getting closer by the second and heading directly for us; then as it approached within 20 ft. or so, it veered sharply up and over our heads. A maneuver that resembled a fighter pilot making a last second calculation away from danger. It then rested on a tree limb about 50 ft above us. I will never forget the sound of it's wings and the power used to force this huge bird upward (this eagle is not pictured; below is an immature bald eagle).

Truly, one of the greatest wild encounters I've ever had!

Still Reflecting: A Beluga Story

As is my previous post about reflecting back on past accounts left undocumented, so is this post. I remember events gone by mostly through pictures, or something I see will trigger a memory. I recently was looking through some pictures from my summer guiding anxious anglers for salmon, trout, and grayling on the Kvichak River, in The Bristol Bay Region of Alaska. I can remember one gloomy day, towards the end of the sockeye salmon run and early into the silver salmon run. A large white object appeared in the waters in front of the lodge. A group of us stared at this object wondering are we really seeing something? What could it be? There is only one aquatic animal that large in this region of the world that is white. Then we saw the animal's blow hole come up and take a breath. No doubt about it. A beluga whale.

 This mammal swam 50 to 60 river miles up river chasing salmon, and according to the villagers of Iguigig, they haven't seen one this far up river in over 30 years. My colleague and I sprang into a boat and grabbed the camera. We were able to get close enough to get some good pictures, yet we wanted to push the envelope and see how close we could get. The whale bolted when it felt our presence near, but it only moved a hundred yards are so. We repositioned ourselves to take some more shots, and then the whale moved again and we decided to leave it be.

The beluga stayed in the area for about two weeks, harassing salmon and amazing anglers at it's presence. Another wondrous wildlife moment for me in Alaska.

Time To Rewind

As spring has sprung, I have spent lots of time this winter reflecting on many things from the past, present, and future. While rewinding my thoughts through abundant Alaskan journeys, to classic Colorado skiing moments, to colossal Colorado trout fishing stages; stages that have changed my life's course and given me a path to live out dreams, thus creating memories that will not flounder away into the abyss. Memories that I want to share. So share I will.

The first one that comes to mind involves a moose. I was fishing Goose Creek, with my friend Les. We were in a thick wooded section where Goose Creek is transitioning from a meadow to a high narrow canyon. The creek is tight and challenging even to professionals like Les and I. We were using hoppers or large dry fly patterns, mostly because Les had tied this huge foam bodied pattern that he wanted to try. We fish close together, moving upstream, leap frogging each other when necessary. Using piles of pebbles and rocks placed in an obvious position to indicate where one started fishing so that the other person knows to move ahead. I first wanted to see if Les's big fly worked. So I watched him cast and land this huge dry fly, and sure enough the fly was hammered by a nice cutbow trout. After witnessing the big fly get another strike, I soon put on the biggest foam dry fly pattern I had and proceeded to move upstream ahead of Les.

I managed to hook up a few small trout and meander my way through Goose Creek heading into what is the thickest section of trees on the the entire creek. And suddenly out of the corner of my eye through a cut in the trees I see a bull moose munching on some greenery. He glances over at me several times as if to say, "Hey buddy, you aren't going to catch anything over there." The moose never even seemed nervous or worried at my presence. That was the first bull moose I ever saw. A special moment for a boy from L.A. (Lower Alabama).

Pura Vida

As our plane descended through the tropical, mountainous valley, towards the capitol city of San Jose, I began to get antsy. This Costa Rican city of over 4 million people is fast-pace, growing, and spread out. Our drive through the city to the highway was, at times, sketchy and culturally eye opening.

This is my and my father's first visit to Costa Rica, but we have been invited to go along with a seasoned veteran, my Uncle Pat. This is his 8th year in a row to this part of the World where adventure is king. Opportunities for adventure appear in many forms in Costa Rica. Surfing, zip lining through the rain forest, white water rafting, horseback riding, rain forest tours, and more. We came to this fresh, flourishing, tropic rain forest coastline to explore one of Costa Rica's gems; the art of sport fishing.

The town of Quepos is a sport fishing paradise. Just two and a half hours drive from San Jose, on the new highway, through rain forest covered mountains, and huge canyons with fast flowing rivers that look like something out of a whitewater rafter's dream. We passed through small towns with roadside market vendors selling fresh fruits, veggies, and souvenirs. There was a beach community with sky rise condos along the beautiful valley coastline, surrounded by high, tree covered cliffs, and mountain sides. The final stretch of this bumpy car ride, was filled with agriculture and beachfront surfing communities. Our destination, the small village of Quepos, would be our home for the next few days. First impressions are, a busy little town that provides that third world feel without the worry of crime or danger.

We checked into our octagon shaped bungalow at the Tulemar. The tree-top canopy hides the bungalow in it's tropical flora, tucked along a mountainside. This provides breathtaking views of the Pacific. Combine that with a sunset that is like none that I have witnessed, and you soon realize it doesn't get much better. After a long day of travel we decided it was cocktail time and made dinner plans at the infamous, El Avion.



El Avion is a restaurant up on the mountain side, not far from our bungalow. It's Fairchild C-123 airplane has been turned into the bar section of the restaurant, and it can be seen from the road. This turns curious passersby's heads. This plane (the twin sister) was involved in the Iran-Contra Affair during the Reagan Administration, where NSA official, Oliver North, took profits from inflated arms sales to Iran, and supported the Nicaraguan counter-revolutionary guerrilla fighters. This plane was shot down over Southern Nicaragua, and it's survivor, C.I.A. operative Eugene Hasenfus parachuted safely into the hands of the Cuban allied Sandinista army and was lead out of the jungle at gun point. This scandal was full of cover-ups, in which the US denied any involvement. This plane is some of the evidence left behind by the scandal.

The cocktails did their job. The outstanding service and food made for a perfect end to our first evening in Costa Rica. El Avion is a great open air eatery with a fantastic view of the Pacific Ocean. It's little piece of history adds character, which provides a unique dinning experience.

The following morning was met by a quiet, calm breakfast on the beach at the Tulemar waterfront. A particularly beautiful place to start the day. The beach was a private cove with massive rock formations on either side, making this extremely exclusive. The thick rain forest foliage housed many birds that were awake and in full roam. In the distance, we could see the early morning boats cruising to their next destination. We finished a quick breakfast and headed to the dock to meet our captain and deckhand aboard our vessel, the Blue Pearl ( I secretly wanted it to be named the Black Pearl).

This area of the vast Pacific Ocean can only be described in one way, "Pura Vida." Pura Vida is how the locals describe life in Costa Rica. It means pure life, and this part of the Pacific is thriving with life. This is evident as we cruise out to the fishing grounds some 30 to 40 miles offshore. Sea turtle after sea turtle appear rustling to get away from the wake of the boat. If the turtles do not move the captain aims to avoid each sea turtle that crosses our course. Schools of spinner dolphins can be seen surfacing and showing off their acrobatic skills in the masses. We see sailfish jump at random as if to say catch me if you can. Why are the fish jumping? Is a question I hear all the time in my line of work. My reply to that is the same every time. Fish jump because they do not have a middle finger. This certainly gets a laugh or two from my audiences. I felt like in this instance, the timing was good to bring this joke to the surface, so I shared it and it certainly was a hit.

As we head further offshore, the hazy, mountainous-covered coastline, slowly meanders out of sight. Setting the stage for a memorable trip. The fishing action starts off quick as one chases the teaser (large, hook less squid-like lures) and then hits the farewell trailer (the bait or lure furthest from the boat) within 10 minutes of fishing. We have two strikes early but this was not a sign of things to come. We would see a dozen or so sailfish jump and a few cruising the surface with their sail sticking out of the water. At the end of the day we had missed 5 sailfish, and the score card read. Sailfish 5. Silvernails 0.

The evening turned out to be a new cultural experience for us. We attended the local Saturday evening Catholic Mass. It was entirely in Spanish, of course. None of us understand conversational Spanish, or what I refer to as, machine gun Spanish because it is spoken so fast. We however, were still able to follow along because the Mass and it's rituals are basically the same. The music was a very latin, caribbean style, mixed with drums, guitars, and bongos. For those of you who are Catholic, the sign of the peace was the most interesting part of the Mass. The entire church walks around to everyone they know, shakes hands, hugs, and wishes them peace. This was truly an intimate moment of the Mass that I will always remember. Here in the States, us Catholics only shake hands with those around us and hug our relatives. What a faithfully awe-inspiring moment for someone who has been raised Catholic and spent 12 years in Catholic schools.

The following day would prove to be our most successful of the three day fishing journey. We started earlier, riding out on a glass-calm morning; seeing more of the giant schools of spinner dolphins racing across the surface of the ocean. Truly a sublime moment for a nature lover like me. The Captain decided to stop and catch some live bait cruising around a deep water reef. This reef provides a safe place for smaller bait fish. We loaded up the tuna tubes (cylinders that vary in diameter from 4inches to 8inches, that are used to keep bait fish like mackerel and small tunas alive to be used as bait) with some small mackerels to be used in tandem with the teaser rigs. The teaser rigs reside on both sides of the boat on the first stop on the outriggers so that you can easily spot the fish and then toss out the live bait. This technique worked for us in the late morning hours. All three of us had caught or fought a sailfish by noon.

I was the first to go, because I have never caught a sailfish before. My first sailfish was a big 120 pound fish, that fought hard and went deep. The fish never really went airborne, except for a couple of surface breaches when it was first hooked. Deep sea fishing is something I enjoy, but I don't do it very often. I am a fly fishing guide and a fly fisherman at heart. I am use to being able to control the fish I am fighting by using my rod and reel to slow or maneuver the fish where I want them. When fighting large saltwater species that have infinite amounts of water to run, the ability to control or stop a fish is virtually impossible. The technique is like this, hold on, pull up on the rod, and then reel as you lower the rod tip; then repeat until the deckhand is able to grab the leader (the last 12 feet or so of clear, usually fluorocarbon, fishing line).

The fight lasted about 12 minutes or so. This fish was tough, swimming in circles and diving deep. Which made it hard for the captain to back the boat down. A technique that aids the angler when reeling in large fish by backing the boat, under power, towards the fish as the angler reels up line. The deckhand finally got the leader in hand. He worked the fish to the side of the boat and grabbed its bill. The sailfish did not like this at all. It began trashing violently as the deckhand still held tight to the fish's bill, till finally, it was exhausted. He removed the hook and lifted the sailfish in front of me so we could pose for the camera. Click this link to watch the video from my first sailfish. I was put under a spell by the coloration and beauty of this fish. Its silk like sail felt alien to this planet. Then, as I was beginning to get high on the presence of this living being, we had to let it go. The release is one of my favorite moments in fishing. It is a feeling that if I could bottle it up and sell it, I would be rich. It is something that is difficult for me to put into words. I know that I will never again share such a moment with this exact animal, and if only this fish knew how grateful I was to share such a glimpse of it's life. At the same time, a flash of guilt comes over me, because my moment of great pleasure is met by a stressful moment for the fish. All I can say is thank you creature of the deep blue sea!

My post fight, weakened state, was soon brought back to an acceptable level with the help of an ice cold Imperial cerveza, and the sight of my father reeling in a sailfish. This sailfish swam towards the boat. Dad had this fish whooped in less than five minutes. Click to see the release of my father's sailfish. I'm glad he had the easy one! I like the challenging ones. After my Uncle Pat fought and lost a sailfish at the boat, I soon got my wish, when a big bull mahi mahi hit the farewell trailer and took off like a rocket. He made some mad, leaping attempts at throwing the hook early on in the fight. This clash was shaping up to be a quick one. Soon I had him to the leader, close to the edge of the boat; but the deckhand knew better. This fish turned sharp, and with a burst, came airborne just behind the boat. This leap was met with ewes and ahs from all of us deck side. You can't help but love it when a fish does something that seems simple, but in fact, requires great ability and strength. It is a primitive reminder of the awe-inspiring powers of nature's underwater animals. However, with all of this fish's power, comes exhaustion. This beautiful creature's bright yellow figure was very visible as it crept closer and closer to it's end. We soon saw it pulled over the stern in the grasp of the gaff. Once on deck, the fish's array of colors became just another reminder of mother natures beauties. As the fish expired in front of us, it's colors changed by the minute, from bright yellows to greens, to browns, to blues, and back. I took some pictures and then watched as the deckhand cleaned the fish so that we could feast on it that night.

Dad and I celebrated our day with shots of locally made rum and cervazas on the ride back to shore. Our wonderful hostess, Milena, met us at the dock upon returning. She gladly took our fresh catch to the local restaurant for us, and made reservations for dinner at El Gran Escape. As we prepared our self for a feast, I reflected upon the days events and the lifelong memories created. I don't get to do things like this with people I love very often, but when I do, I sure do try to capture every little moment. This trip sure provided lots of moments.


The final day of fishing was again slow, yet my Uncle Pat managed to land a sailfish. My dad had one close, and with in a few seconds had the slack line rap around the tip of the rod. Thus, when the fish pulled the line taut it snapped the line. I had one shot at a sailfish on the fly rod. As it chased the teaser, the deckhand jumped up, tossed the fly over board as I grabbed the rod and threw a small sized cast towards the fish. Then I gave the fly some quick jerks to make it look like a squid swimming; and just like that fish was gone. I will have to wait until next time to catch a sail on the fly. Just as it began, our trip ended on a missed fish.

I can't say that the fishing was great, but what matters is time well spent with love ones, sharing life long memories. And because that is what I was fishing for, I caught plenty!

Alaska: The Lost Sessions

You would think going separate ways once returning to Anchorage would be a given when you have spent 4 months with people you did not know prior to arriving in Alaska, right? Well, that was not the case. Me, along with my good friends, Thomas and Lowell rented a cabin in an area surrounded by numerous small streams. All of which feed a larger river drainage system. It was the last week of September and the crowds were gone, the temps were bearable, and at times, warm enough to sweat underneath your waders. The mornings were cold, and the days turned to warm, eventually giving in to cool evenings. We were on the hunt for rainbow trout and maybe a late silver salmon that has not yet met it's end. We stopped in at a fly shop along the way and asked for some local knowledge. The man gladly told us some spots to try and even told us what flies we should purchase. Imagine that? So without question we purchased our selected flies and headed on down the road. Lowell had fished the area before and already knew of some good spots, but we took menatl notes anyway on the advice given. We had a week to explore and were just thrilled to be done with the season, to reflect upon the good, the bad, and the ugly. There was lots of water to cover over a week so we half-heartedly mapped out a daily plan. This trip was about us; no schedule, no clients, no boss, no BS. We fished our happy little brains out, catching trout (Lowell caught a silver salmon or two) and feeling free. A friendly competition of the biggest trout caught kept things interesting and after the first day, yours truly was leading the way with a beautiful, 20 inch leopard rainbow (pitcured below). However, Thomas would end up with the biggest trout. A trout that would measure 22 inches. Our evenings included trash talking, added with beer drinking and stories of the day. We shared techniques and tactics used to lure in hungry trout. The three of us visted local eateries and watering holes in the closest town; the town of Talkeetna. We even caught the sounds of a live band one night. It was labeled the last party of the season for the locals. The fishing was good and the experience was even better. I love The Last Frontier, that is Alaska.