Truth

The Wake-Up Call

As y'all probably figured out from previous posts and/or the Twazzler feed, I was on the road for work this past week, back in Idaho.

It was a decent rotation; being away working for eight or nine days as opposed to 28 or 29 days was quite agreeable to me. I even had an exceptional session of urban fishing on the Boise River (again) prior to flying out.

I did have a major wake-up call on this trip, however (one that doesn't involve how much I dislike casting with indicators).

On the third or fourth day, I had to make a visit to the project site to check up on processes and such, which involved a solid 15-20 minute hike uphill. No big deal, right?

Wrong.

Some of my friends and I have an expression: "I didn't know whether to shit or go blind." It's used to explain moments of mass confusion or anger. In this case, after walking three-quarters of the way up, I could have modified the saying: "I didn't know whether I was going to shit or die, or die while shitting and puking all over myself."

Anyway you cut it, that little hike didn't do anything to make me feel good about myself.

This was (is) a bitter pill for me to swallow. I mean, I still fit into pants with a 34" waist and as little as a few years ago I was mounting a comeback in rugby, getting in decent physical shape along the way.

Note #1: the rugby comeback ended when I realized I like to tackle with the same shoulder I cast with. It's hard to cast when you can't lift your arm. Priorities, you see...

I even tried to justify my near-death/near-shit experience with the difference in altitude: Fredericton is about 65' (20m) above sea level, while this project site is pushing 7500' (2285m).

Note #2: I only know these elevations because I looked it up while being dizzy and in denial about my physical fitness.

But reality bites. Once my heart rate and breathing returned to normal (about 2 days later, I'm sure), I came to a stark conclusion: I am horribly out of shape.

As I plan on having countless miles of rivers, streams, shorelines and flats to walk in my future, this is changing. Right now. I'm working on a leaner, fitter and possibly meaner, version of me.

Note #3: 'possibly meaner' due to increased crankiness from lack of cheeseburgers and Twizzlers.

Note #4: I won't be posting any before & after pics. Or spamming your twitter/facebook feeds with my RunKeeper stats or the health benefits of some paleo-bullshit diet. For what it's worth I'll probably still eat Twizzlers and cheeseburgers. In fact, I have no real idea why the hell I even wrote this post other than to say feeling completely winded & shitty (not literally) after that hike sucked ass, and I'm already doing something about it. So if you're in the same boat, maybe you should do something about it too. Just sayin'.

Note #5: Ignore this tweet from earlier today. I'm eating in moderation.

Things of Three III

The third edition of three items/subjects/places/people worth checking out to make life as an angler and global citizen far more enjoyable.

1. Howler Bros apparel
If shallow people were to align a product line with their 'personal image' (*cough*), I wouldn't blame them if they chose Howler Bros of Austin, TX. From their About page:

We are Howler Brothers. We are not really related by blood. But we are bonded by many shared callings: surfing, fishing, paddling and the good things that come with these pursuits. Things like fire pits, really good tequila, limes, and pre-dawn coffee.

My surfing career was cut short by lack of waves, a fear of sharks and limited motivation to learn how to surf. But I do like fishing, paddling (for fishing), fire pits (we call 'em bonfires), tequila, limes, limes/lime juice in tequila, and coffee (pre- or post-dawn makes no difference to me).

But that's neither here nor there.

Howler makes clothing that is durable, comfortable and practical. Some would say stylish, but I use practical in place of stylish; as in, "Can I where this in public without my lovely girlfriend being embarrassed?" For Howler's apparel lineup, the answer to that is a heck yeah.

I just received my (third) order from Howler this AM and I'm impressed as always. Their t-shirts are the most comfortable (and softest things) I own. And that hat is just damn cool.

Know who else digs Howler swag? This guy. Oh yeah, it's true.

Website: howlerbros.com

Social: @HowlerBros & facebook.com/howlerbros

Note: Cameron over at The Fiberglass Manifesto has a TFM promo code for $10 off your order, check out the details here.


2. My (new) old-timey shaving kit
This started as a multi-paragraph rant about much of a money-grab cartridge razors have become, but instead I'm just posting this pic:

A better shave, a more enjoyable shave, and a far less expensive shave. Less plastic waste, too. Bam.

After using the double-edge razor for the first time, I was already looking forward to my next opportunity to shave.

That's telling in itself: I normally hate shaving.

Website: classicedge.ca
Resources: sharpologist.com

3. Wolves
Last week it was Coyote. This week it's Wolves, from Big Wreck's Albatross album. Enjoy.

5 Things I Learned in Belize

Here are five things I learned on my trip to Belize last week:

1. Line speed is extremely important.
I knew line speed was important in the salt before leaving, but rarely gave it a second thought...until I was on a pancake flat with a super-spooky school of cruising bones in a very stiff breeze.

We didn't have very many shots in the first two-thirds of the week, and the few shots I did have were exactly as described: cruising fish, long-ish shots, stiff breeze.

Mark my words, bonefish: it'll be a different game the next time I'm around.

Louis and Kent over at Gink & Gasoline frequently post good stuff on this, e.g.:

2. I like eating seafood far more than I ever imagined.

I caught some snapper on a handline off the back of the boat one night with one of the guides. The kitchen staff cleaned them & dressed them up in beer-batter. I topped them with Marie Sharp's and it was heavenly.

And don't even get me started on snook. We had it one night & it was amazing, but they're just too fun to catch to make a habit of eating them. But man, they are delicious. Commence moral dilemma.

Related note: we had caught a couple snook and the guides wanted to keep them. Our boat kept one, and the other boat kept two. I was sort of ok with this. Then I caught a big snook, which they also wanted to keep. I wasn't ok with this. Dylan suggested a picture of it in the water, as I leaned over the gunnel. This photo op was convenient; I 'dropped' the snook, giving it a little shove into the current to help it along. 

3. There's a place for glass & slower action rods in the salt...

...and that place is short-shots, mangroves and docks. 

I brought my CGR 7/8wt with me to Belize, and it really shined for making short shots under branches & in between roots and dock pilings. 

Whether or not the CGR would have the backbone required to yank a decent-sized snook or baby tarpon out of structure remains to be seen: I didn't hook anything on it. But it reinforces my belief that super-fast action rods are not the cat's ass at all times, as I discovered this summer in Charleston.

Note: I would have gladly blown that rod up on a 20lb baby tarpon & replaced it with another. I consider that the price of admission, and better to blow up a $99 rod than a $450 custom-built glass rod, huh?

For more reinforcement on glass in the salt, check out the backcountry fun Dr. Aaron Adams had with glass here on The Fiberglass Manifesto.

Side note: Some day, possibly soon, or maybe next year, I will be actively searching for an 8'-8'6", 4pc 7/8wt glass rod for light salt duty. I believe it would be epic for reds, specs & bones in certain situations. And I want the reel seat to match my Tibor Backcountry, fyi...

4. I am very emotionally-invested in catching fish.

By day four I was getting bummed out.

The trip was awesome, food was delicious, bunks were comfortable, but I wasn't seeing many fish, and the shots I did have weren't easy by any stretch of the imagination. Frustrated would be an understatement.

Side note: I'll mention Dylan, aka the guy who does this for a living, hadn't hooked anything at this point either, so it wasn't totally my incompetent angling skills at play here. Things were friggin' tough.

Fortunately day five turned things around. If it didn't, Dylan would have woken up to the following on day six:

5. i) Loop knots are my favourite knots.
Simple. Elegant. Effective.

5. ii) My Tibor Backcountry is my favourite reel.
Simple. Elegant. Effective.

Things of Three II

The second edition of three items/subjects/places/people worth checking out to make life as an angler and global citizen far more enjoyable.

1. Marie Sharp's Habanero Sauce
I can barely put into words how awesome this hot sauce is.

Marie Sharp's is the hot sauce of angels.

There's heat, but the heat compliments the flavour of the sauce's carrot base without overpowering it. The Belizean Heat (smaller bottle) is considerably hotter, but still extremely flavourful; moreso than most hot sauces that I've tried previously.

About seventeen minutes after coming ashore, still wobbly with sea-legs, I sauntered into a Belizean grocer to buy some to bring back to Canada (the $1.04CDN = $1US = $2BZ exchange rate is highly favourable if anyone is interested in becoming a habanero sauce smuggler with me).

It's completely possible I've discussed Marie Sharp's more than I have the fishing since I returned. And it even makes turkey bacon tolerable.

Related note #1: Once we arrived at the airport, I accessed email for the first time in 8 days, where I saw the following passage in an email from my buddy Will: "Marie Sharp's habanero pepper sauce. Just sayin. Fill your boots and then cover your eggs." Done and done, William. Done. And. Done.

Web: www.mariesharps-bz.com

2. Columbia Airgill Chill shirt
I was looking to buy this shirt when I sent the following tweet:

I never expected Columbia to tell me to DM my address and size to get one to demo for free. That was pretty damn cool, although never the original intention. So thanks, Columbia!

Related note #2: Ironically, I've been telling people for the past month or so how I'm limiting the number of gear reviews I do on this site. I'd rather mention gear I've used & abused after purchasing it on my own dime. You might not have noticed, but I've been using this forum to (attempt to) expand my writing abilities, albeit slowly and one syllable at a time, as well as focusing on travel tips to help my fellow anglers (anyone? Bueller? Bueller?). Oh well. Who am I to turn down free swag?

In four words: I love this shirt.

In more than four words: I wore & abused the hell out of this shirt. Five of seven fishing days I wore it, with no washes in between. It was soaked in saltwater and sweat, smeared with fish slime, and drizzled with coffee, Marie Sharp's, Coca Cola, Belikan and very nearly tears. The Airgill Chill held up to all of it.

It's sturdily built but lightweight and quick-drying, with the right number, size and location of pockets to hold your camera and a small fly box. Size large was slightly baggy on me, but I didn't mind the loose fit in the billion and eight degree heat.

Two additional considerations: 1) it was surface-of-the-sun hot a few days there; and 2) I'm a Canadian who spent the majority of summer in far Northern latitudes. I was a pasty-white cracker in Belize, and the shirt's Omni-Shade® UPF 30 sun protection kept my upper body pasty-white throughout the week.

This is a premium fishing shirt. It will travel with me to any hot climate from here on in.

And yes, I would have gladly dropped my own coin on it with zero regrets. But I didn't have to, so big win for me.

Web: Columbia Performance Fishing Gear front page here; www.columbia.com

3. Coyote
No, not the cuddly animal. Coyote is the new album from Matt Mays. It's good. Like, really, really good. This may be blasphemous, but I like it better than Jack White's album Blunderbuss, and I thought that was the primo album of 2012...until I heard Coyote.

Check it out on the iTunes store here.

Here's the first track on the album; it's definitely one of my early favourites.

Nemesis

nem·e·sis (noun)  \ˈne-mə-səs\

• a formidable and usually victorious rival or opponent

*          *          *

My first experience with Atlantic salmon was with my uncle Guy (pronounced either the correct French way, as in 'Gee Lafleur,' or the bastardized version, as in Guy Smiley. Totally your choice. He'll go by either). Uncle Guy was the first one to put a fly rod in my hand on the Miramichi River.

I was 15 years old and grounded for missing curfew or something like that. I wasn't a bad kid by any means, it's just my parents had an (unreasonably) early curfew for me. It was easy to be late for curfew; I'd have to leave halfway through movies to be on time for curfew.

My friend & neighbour Paul used to tell me: "You can be late or not late. You can't be 'more late.'" It was hard to argue with that logic, so I really missed curfew that time. Turns out you could be more late after all.

So Uncle Guy came and hauled me off to his brother's camp for a few nights to get me out of my parents' hair. He introduced me to: fly casting for salmon, reading current seams, reading holding water, drinking Japanese sake, and drinking Lamb's Rum. Some punishment, huh?

Note to self: when I become a parent, never send the kids off with uncle Guy to a fishing camp for 'punishment,' but by all means send them for life lessons...

I hooked one salmon, did a massive trout-set, and it threw the hook on the first jump. And that was that.

*          *          *

Within a couple years, I started playing competitive rugby, curfews went away, I was off to university, yada yada yada. Salmon fishing didn't happen again for a while. I did, however, start eating salmon in its raw, Japanese form while in Vancouver.

If you ever find yourself living in Vancouver, you should expect to eat a lot of meals alone unless you eat sushi.

I preferred the wild Pacific salmon over the farmed Atlantic salmon. It had a better taste, consistency and colour. Consistency was the big thing when I started eating sushi: some things I couldn't chomp down on without getting a little queasy. I was good with the wild salmon, all wrapped nice and neat with rice and seaweed and avocado.

But I never fished for salmon in British Columbia (well, not until last summer).

*          *          *

I started trying for Atlantic salmon on the fly rod once again a few years ago. At first, they were admittedly half-hearted attempts with poor conditions and late in the season. I always considered salmon fishing as 'bonus fishing,' something to extend the fly fishing season after trout season ends (trout season here ends on September 15th, while salmon season runs until October 15th).

Once I made my move into smallmouth bass fishing on the fly, I dismissed the salmon fishing as an annoyance: dealing with private pools or crowded public pools, fickle fish, fickle anglers, extra driving time & money spent on gas, so on & so forth.

Smallies on the fly were keeping it real....yo.

But one can only get razzed for not catching salmon for so long when you're always hanging about a fly shop before you really have to go out and do it (if only to get people to shut the hell up).

So I hit the books and the interwebz on everything I could read on salmon fishing. And steelhead, too, because there are lots of similarities between the two fish. And it paid off: my first day on the water after my extensive self-directed online course, I caught two, back-to-back. I felt like King Shit of Turd Island: what was so hard about that?

Then this happened.

I was in a deep, dark place when I wrote that. And not deep in the woods, like Yellow Pine, Idaho, either. It was Joseph Conrad-type shit for fishing.

Atlantic salmon became the official nemesis of Mat Trevors.

Constantly outwitted by something with the brain the size of a pea? For that, there's MasterCard.

*          *          *

This season, things started off differently. More upbeat, cheerful. Fish came easy: bass and trout here at home, grayling in Alaska.

Even the other night, I was casting away to see if any of the salmon run made it upriver as far as I was when I received a text to go bass fishing. "Gladly," I thought. No big deal, haven't seen any fish roll or jump*. Besides, I was going back out salmon fishing in the morning, further downstream.

* - The Atlantic salmon's propensity to roll and jump can send me into the above-mentioned deep, dark place: there will be several, if not dozens, of fish jumping, rolling and splashing around. Sometimes within a few feet of where I'm wading, scaring the livin' bejeebus outta me. Based on my personal history, once salmon start to jump & roll, I should just leave. My nerves get too frazzled from the combination of seeing lots of fish, having them jump behind me to freak me out, and having none of them take a fly. See what I mean? They mock me. Nemesis.

The next morning (yesterday, as I type this) is when things went a little sideways.

The pool was crowded. Two guides and their sports worked the privately owned water just above the public pool. Two anglers in a jonboat were fishing the far side of the public pool. And eight people, including myself, were doing the cast-and-step shuffle, as dictated be Ye Olde Angling Etiquette.

Crowded or not, it turned out to be one of those epic sessions: eight fish were hooked in the span of about an hour. All bright fish, fresh in with the recent high water.

One of the biggest of those eight salmon was 12-15 pounds. It was fought hard and fought well for about seven minutes. With about ten feet of fly line out of the tip, the salmon was soon to be tailed. But then it decided to fuck with the angler, swim directly toward him and throw the hook in the slack line. The angler tried his best to maintain a positive demeanour, but disappointment and disbelief was unmistakable.

In reality, I fought the fish for a good length of time and was going to release the fish anyway. I'm excited that I chose the right fly, read the water correctly, made the proper cast, hooked the fish and fought him well. I didn't even have to handle him, so he was off to swim and spawn and be hooked again. But I would have an easier time sleeping at night (and handling the upcoming razzing at the fly shop) if I would have at least grabbed the leader before he popped off.

I'm going back tomorrow morning, getting on the road in about seven hours. On the water in eight.

And hopefully I'll be face to face with my nemesis shortly after that.