Internal Swing Monologue

A Beauty of a Skamania Buck

That's definitely the sweet spot and there has to be a fish there. This must not be the spot. Are they holding right now or moving? Are they in their winter lies or in the transitional water? Hmmm, let's slow this swing down. Slower, slower, there it is. What the hell? Ok, broadside AF...Was that a bump or a leaf?  Why did that Spey Jedi give me shit about having bead chain eyes on a fly? I bet he'd get a kick out of this tungsten cone. He'd probably think I'm "dredging" with this sink 4 tip. This is definitely the wrong angle for this spot. This is definitely the right cast for this spot. This center pinner is definitely going to low hole me. Maybe if I bought the 450 grain, the extra 30 grains would cast better and I'll catch more fish. Nah, I already have like 34 shooting heads. I'm going to pick this guy's pocket. I have no idea what I'm doing. I've caught more browns the last few days than the past five years combined. There must not be any steelhead this year. Maybe, I should go to Malinda's and buy some fly tying material. That is definitely the last thing I need, but I'll probably spend 100 dollars. Gotta get that perfect shade of brown dubbing. When was the last time I nymphed? I can't remember.  There it is, thats the swing. BAM! Now, that is definitely not a brown trout...

My Girl

Riley

2005-2019

All dogs are special in their unique ways. Riley was the runt of the litter who had a passive, "you first," personality. She played second fiddle for her entire life to two much larger labradors, one aggressive and the other a big goof. Despite this, her heart was pure and her calming personality made her a favorite amongst family and friends. She garnered the nickname, "Queen Riley," because she majestically took her time in everything except retrieving and water. For me, she was known as, "my girl". I picked her out on an impromptu, just to appease Mom, trip to the pet store. Later, I gave my parents a call and convinced them to go back and get her. Sometimes, those types of decisions end up working out well. 

When one embarks on dog ownership, they are entering into an agreement known as "the deal". Dogs are loyal companions who will shower you with love no matter your mood or hardship. They will always be there for you. For fourteen years, I could count on Riley happily meeting me every single time I walked through that door. When she began losing her eyesight, hearing, and became riddled with arthritis and cancer, it became apparent that it was time for our part of the deal. When they have given you all that they can, you have to make the decision to do what is best for them. 

Thanks for fourteen wonderful years girl...

On the Cape

Salt Pond Bay

The trip began as a mid-week question that I didn't have to think long or very hard about. A roommate trip to Cape Cod for several days seemed like a perfect way to ring in the end of summer. Sometimes, you just have to go for it. When adventure calls, simply answer the bell. I packed a few flies, a 10 weight, and my stripping basket. The days called for bike trips around the cape to cool little towns, their coffee shops, and the various sights that abound. Rather than bike, I played the role of support vehicle. I fished along the way and met up with everyone at each destination. Often, I'd provide a respite for tired legs or a drive back to home base. 

On the fishing side of things, I had no idea what I was doing. I'd hop in the car, peruse google maps, and head to a place to check it out. I caught a bunch of small stripers, had two keepers pop off at my feet, and had an encounter with a relatively large line sider who missed my game changer. The highlight was spotting a great white shark off a beach. I instantaneously knew what I was looking at and so did a bunch of other beach goers in the immediate vicinity. I found a massive seal colony off North Truro Beach, enjoyed the company of friends, and had my fair share of good food. More often than not, it is the spontaneous little trips that mean the most for my soul. Add this one to the list...

The Hour of the Mouse

"...this past weekend, Mark and I met to float the West Branch of the Delaware river, one of the only rivers around with consistent cold water and reliable hatches. Last August we had an excellent weekend of dry fly action in much higher flows. This weekend the water was very low. We planned to do a night float, our first, throwing streamers and mouse patterns for nocturnal browns.

The Coast of Maine

Bass Harbor Lighthouse

Selected photos from the drive to Baxter State Park and the journey home through Acadia National Park. 

The Travelers Loop

Traveler Mountain Overlooking Mt. Katahdin

After Katahdin and a few other jaunts in the southern portion of Baxter St. Park, I embarked on the second leg of my trip. Situated in the northern section, the destination was South Branch Pond and the famed Traveler Loop. The 11.1 mile Traveler circuit bags four peaks: Peak of the Ridges, Traveler, Little Traveler, and North Traveler.  Together, they form a picturesque backdrop to the views of North and South Branch Ponds from the campground. Once on the loop, the hiker is exposed to a constantly changing landscape, vegetation, rocks, and vistas that overlook the woods and waters of northern Maine. It is a stunning hike that surpasses Mt. Katahdin in terms of difficulty and beauty. 

On The Knife's Edge

Baxter St. Park and Mt. Katahdin

Life can be an emotional rollercoaster. The first half of my 2019 was filled with high hopes for an even better second half. When those aspirations never came to fruition, I sought the comfort of the road. Sometimes you just need to get away and find your equilibrium. I'd been daydreaming of a trip to Maine for most of my school year but never seriously looked into the logistics behind it. On the first day of my summer vacation, I found myself beside a fire with Murphy decompressing, or at least trying to. It was then that I just decided to go for it. I pulled out my laptop and found a few campsites to book. I hit the road the following morning with my sights set on Baxter St. Park and Mt. Katahdin, the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail.  Two days later, I arrived in the buggiest place I had ever been. I was entirely alone and I wanted to do the Knife's Edge...

Woods and Waters

South Branch Pond, Baxter State Park

Selected shots from camping in the woods and waters of northern Maine. 

Lost in Time and Space

Sunrise in Shenandoah National Park

I found myself in my hammock, on the edge of an overlook, torn between taking a nap and the intermittent service on my cell phone. I couldn't withdraw myself from the very reason why I made the late night drive to the park. I sought to free my mind but I couldn't get out of my own head...

Old Rag

Old Rag

After wrist surgery to repair my TFCC tendon and several weeks in a cast, I was itching to escape. My cast was removed on a Thursday and after work on Friday, I found myself packing on a whim. Around midnight, I found myself arriving at the Shenandoah National Park entrance to find all of the major campsites booked except for one. After an hour of driving south on Skyline Drive, I arrived at the campground and was so tired, I slept in my car. I awoke at 3:30 am and began driving north again to catch the sunrise at one of the many scenic overlooks along the road. I took a few short hikes before exiting the park for the day's first mission: Old Rag. 

Old Rag is one of the most popular attractions around Shenandoah National Park and is viewed by many as a gateway hike. It is accessible for beginners but challenging enough for experienced hikers. It had been years since I climbed Old Rag and this would be my fourth summit. For me, it was just what the doctor ordered and served as a starting point for a summer filled with hikes. The rock scrambling was made more difficult because I could only use one of my hands and I had to be extra careful to not hurt my surgically repaired wrist. By one o'clock I had completed the entire loop, reentered the park, rested, and went on several more short hikes. 

Spring Smallmouth

Visual Eats...

Spring smallmouth bass in the Mid-Atlantic region is a hotly anticipated event that must be taken advantage of. For a few short weeks, the bass put on the feed bag as they prepare for the spawn. This short period produces some absolutely bonkers fly fishing. On one particular day this Spring, we simply stopped taking pictures as cookie cutter 16 inch bass kept coming to the boat on seemingly every cast. If you didn't hook one, you at least had an interaction. It was an adrenaline filled day as bass after bass visually attacked streamers from 4-8 inches. These experiences are often best shared with friends and family and I will fondly look back on these moments for the rest of my days. 

Highs and Lows

Signs of spring...

Over the past six seasons, I've made it a point to meet up with friends in central Pennsylvania. This usually occurs over my spring break and this year it featured a few highs and a lot of lows.

The Wrist Chronicles

Two handed trout...

Still in a brace for my injured wrist, my fishing opportunities were relegated to fishing left handed, or using a two handed rod. With it being spring, I had no problem bombing streamers with a skagit head and trying my hand at catching some local trout. For a few weekends in March I got out alone, with Ryan, or my father. As the wrist slowly felt better, I even got out on the oars a little bit. I considered it my own form of physical therapy. Little did I know at the time, but I actually needed wrist surgery. The doctor wanted it performed immediately but I opted to wait in order to take advantage of the fishing season. Sometimes, you have to have your priorities in order...

and I ran back to that hollow again...

A beautiful Maryland tailwater...

The Gunpowder River in Maryland is a gem of a wild trout stream just north of the city of Baltimore. I have fond memories of fly fishing with my brother Matt on these waters. When he started fly fishing, the Gunpowder was his playing ground. When he lived in the city, I would often make Friday night runs after work to fish the sulphur hatches in the spring. At night, I would crash at my brother's house and hang out in the city. On the weekends, we would always make sure to fish the river for a day. With the river being chock full of beautiful eager brown trout, we always had a great time. Despite the large populations of small trout, there are some big fish in the Gunpowder and those moments are permanently entrenched in my long term memory. Those recollections will always bring me back to this little hollow to find some fly fishing vibes on any day of the year.

Scrantonicity

Urban Angling

On a cold winter Sunday, Ryan invited me to check out his local haunt. Nursing a fractured wrist, I rigged up a switch rod for some two handed fun and drove north. Any jaunt with Ryan into the electric city always produces some memorable moments. Besides the large wild and holdover trout that call this river home, one can always expect to be reminded of the urban center through which the river flows. On a typical outing, you will be dodging hobo encampments, drug deals, and losing flies into a wide variety of junk that the river collects. On this day, my favorite scene was the Christmas tree decorations of plastic sheeting, tarps, blankets, and other debris that were hanging from the river's trees from the last high water event. They added an additional obstacle for any errant backcast. No longer a secret, the river is chock full of anglers that are willing to put up with the scenery to catch gold. Try and be the first person to fish your favorite stretch in order to take advantage of the relatively eager trout. That, or try and mix up techniques/flies to show the trout a different look. It is urban angling at its finest.