It's Cold Out...

                                                    ...and twisted thoughts that spin round my head...

generally speaking, I guess I'm not a very happy person. more of a realist I suppose. life is a just a series of fucked up tragedies strung together between brief moments of false security, just enough to keep you going, just enough to keep you from sticking a gun in your mouth and signing out from this shit show for good.

just kiddin'. I did lose my job of ten years last week, so I figured I should at least try & sound jaded. it's tough to do though when you have a gorgeous wife, 3 healthy kids & nothin' to do but fish, tie flies & drink beer while you watch those kids tear the house apart.

I'm not a trout guy. Not a lot of opportunity for legit shots at wild trouts 'round here. I've taken a few trips lately with moderate success, but they don't really get me goin'. My fish of choice are moronids, specifically true striped bass & hybrids. They eat trout..and anything else that's too stupid to hide when they're around. When they hit a fly, there is no mistaking what's ripping the line off your reel.

It was cold as shit today. 17 degrees when I woke up & not much warmer as I loaded up the sled.

The box was loaded as well.

Hybrids' metabolism slows around the 50 degree mark, like most other warmwater fish. The tributaries to the big rivers hit this mark a few months ago, with the fish moving back to the main stem in search of deep pockets of warm water & forage. This is what drove me to trout. After back casting a few stockers into the brush, I had to get my warm water fix. There are only a handful of places where there is warm water this time of year.

I hit the road.

Destination in the distance.

Upon arrival, important decisions had to be made.

The tools.

Warm water meets cold water.

I was lucky enough to see a guy catch a 2 lb. largemouth. He said "Do you know if this is legal?" as he hacked it in half, attached the head to a hook & threw it out. Within 15 minutes he had a 25 lb. blue cat on the line. I resisted the photo op.

The wind was beating me to death on the big river as the banjo music grew louder. I relocated.

I had numerous fish blow up at my feet. It wasn't long before the clouser connected. Even at a few pounds, hybrids still bend a 9 weight proper.

Landed a dozen or so, up to 5 lbs.

Changed locations again & switched to the 5 weight due to the caliber of fish I was bringing to hand. The skipjack fly was the ticket, fish after fish.

The state record for hybrid striped bass is 17.65 lbs.  I've been gunning for it for a couple years now, with fish up to 12 lbs. in the tribs I fish. I continued throwing the 5 weight because I didn't feel like tying the productive fly onto the horse shit excuse of an intermediate line, das Wonderline. Makes me Wonder why that shit coils up like a cheap slinky in cold weather.

As I drifted the fly through a boiling seam, the surface exploded with a tail slap. I knew I was fucked from the get go as the five weight doubled over. I'll spare the details of the 15 minute fight but it was intense as the light rod maxed out. I don't do that light tippet shit where you hook the fish and let it run a mile, I try & stop them in their tracks with 25 lb. test. A tall order in fast current & with a rod I had intended to catch skipjack with. When the fish finally surfaced I knew it was my best to date.

15 lbs. 6 ozs. of mean ass fish, snagged right in the lips.

A memorable fish for sure.

Had something for just such an occasion.

A dozen or so more fish, each smaller than the last was indication it was time to go. That..and the dwindling temps.

It was cold out.

Cheers.