In the beginning God Created Rivers (and trout)

What’s all the fuss about Fly Fishing?

I figured I should take some time to explain why we are selling our dream house in San Diego, quitting our jobs, leaving our friends and family, and opting to live in a 450 square foot RV.  Adventure.    Adventure comes in many forms, but for me, it is an insatiable drive to be on a river, in the woods, away from other people and enjoying the zen of our wilderness.  Fly fishing allows me to take in the beauty of the wilderness while keeping my A.D.D. mind busy with constant puzzles the sport provides.  To me, this is heaven.  It could be 20 degrees, snowing, HOT, windy, muddy, overgrown, etc., and I would still feel giddy to be on the river.  Some people confuse fishing with catching.   And while catching is nice, it’s not the motivation.  Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after. – Henry David Thoreau

Where it all started

Like most fishing addictions, mine started with my Father.   He was a great Pacific Northwest outdoorsman.   We had more than our share of elk and deer staring at me on our walls while growing up and many pictures of him with stringers full of fish with a face full of life.    Unfortunately, I was never able to meet or fish with him.   He passed when I was 1 year old.  His legacy was passed to me through my Mother and 2 older (12 and 10 years older) brothers.    I was a voyeur into his life.   Everywhere I went, “Are you Tony’s kid?  He was a great man.” over and over.   That, combined with the stories and pictures, had me convinced, at a very young age, I had a lot to live up to.   Thus, my obsessive personality took root into living up to the high bar my Father had set for me.

 

Growing Pains

I’m around 5 years old, living in Oregon, and my Dad’s mother passed away in Pennsylvania.   My Mom wanted to drive across country to go visit family, so off we went.   I don’t really understand how a 5 year old can have these feelings to this day, but I do recall being quite a pain in the bottom for my Mom on that trip.    Every river, creek, or stream we drove by for 3000 miles, I begged her to stop and let me fish.   Yes, at 5 years old.   I wasn’t a fly fisherman at the time, but I had some kind of small fishing pole my Brothers got me.   Oh man, I know I drove her nuts.    If she wouldn’t stop, I would throw a tantrum, that part I do understand about 5 year olds, LOL.  If she would stop, and I did fish, she would have to battle me to get me back in the car.    To this day, I have no idea how we made it to Pennsylvania, or back home for that matter, but it was pretty much downhill for family and my future wife from there.

As I got older, my friends and I would beg my Mom, their Mom, Bothers, anyone with a car to take us to Eagle Creek in Estacada, Oregon, about a 30 minute drive from the house.   We fished that thing as often as we could get there.  In the summers, we would bring goggles and dive for lures, corkies, and crawdads.   Oh the memories of that place.

When I finally got my drivers license, Game Over.   The main challenge was gas money and money for fishing gear etc.   Eventually, all my friends knew of this place.    We would bring the girls out to bonfires on summer nights and do what young kids do.   We would raft and cliff jump into a big hole just under the fish ladder in the hot summers.   It was everything!

My girlfriend, Jaime’s, now my wife, senior prom fell on a Saturday night which was the same day as opening day for trout.  By this time, my friends and I had a yearly tradition of camping and fishing on opening day for trout season on the Crooked River in Prineville, Oregon, about 5 hours away.  Ahhh, ahhh, what to do…   what to do…  Think.   OK, breathe, I can find a solution.   I took a shot, and I presented a solution to my lovely lady.   I would miss opening day on Saturday, but she had to agree that we would leave after the prom and short visit at whatever party, and then she would drive, while I got my beauty sleep, to Prineville.   To my surprise, she accepted!   Oh yay.  Compromise!  Let’s just say some fish may have been harmed in the creation of this tale.  I missed opening day, but had my beauty sleep and did my thing.

A special shout out to Jaime who woke up with sun beating down on her in the hatchback.   While now I mostly catch and release trout, she is a keeper.

 

So-Cal?

We got married shortly after Jaime’s college graduation and decided we wanted a path less taken.  We needed to blow off some steam.  Instead of settling at 9-5 jobs in rainy and grey Oregon, we had plans to go be tour guides in a tropical destination or something stupid.   Jaime had spent summers in San Diego, so we sold our 2 cars, bought an SUV, rented a u-haul trailer, and drove south, landing in San Diego.  From there, we settled into Jaime going to law school and becoming a high-falutin (is that a word?) esquire while I became a computer dork at an insurance company.  Ugh, not our tropical tour guide, just for fun, lifestyle, but we did find that $ allows for some fun trips.   The weather was pretty great too.   But, can you figure out what San Diego doesn’t have?  Rivers.   The little boy inside me was crushed.  He tried to appease himself by learning surfing, playing golf, mountain biking, surf fishing, tuna fishing, etc… but nothing, nothing, compared to being on the river.

I’m very thankful to have found a few colleagues who shared my love of rivers.   They showed me that Mammoth, California is only about 6 hours away and had the cure for my fever.  They also taught me more about this fly fishing thing I have been trying to get the hang of.  I will always be grateful for that.   When most people think of Mammoth, they think of great skiing and snowboarding.   I think of 2 days extra off of work around July 4th.  I think of taking a week, renting a condo, bringing Jaime and Joey 9 (our dog).  Small town parades and fireworks.  Owens river, Hot Creek, San Joaquin, East Walker and Twin Lakes.   I think of brown trout and rainbow trout, float tubes and waders.   OK, I can do this So-Cal thing, I just gotta drive a bit.   Kinda like driving to Prineville.

 

Montana and Patagonia

Those same colleagues (friends) that showed me Mammoth were quite a bit in front of me in life and finances.   As such, our trips changed from Mammoth wade fishing to yearly Montana guided boat trips and an eventual Patagonia (Argentina) trip.   The good life!!   Let me tell you what.     Now, instead of catching a few 14″ trout, I’m catching dozens of 20″ trout with a bigger one here and there.   Instead of packing a sandwich, I have guides pull the boat over and cooking me pork loin on the side of the river with a smoked steelhead, cream cheese and cracker appetizer and Fume Blanc to wash it down.   Instead of buying flies from the guy at the fly shop, the guides are tying on the flies that they tied all winter.   Instead of guessing which rock to throw my flies at, the guides are telling me exactly where to cast, how to cast, when to cast, and why the flies are going to work.  The guides are pointing out the elk crossing river downstream, the moose in the bushes, the goose nests with eggs in them.   The beauty of these places, “it is not fish they are after“.   Oh man, the good life.   If heaven exists, this is exactly what it would be like.  Nirvana.

 

Oh man, I’m 40?

Montana, Patagonia, pisha…   I want to go to Alaska.   But I like to explore, on my own terms.   As I’m about to turn 40 (a few years ago) I got approval from Jaime to plan a trip to Alaska.   I realize that going to a lodge or two can be quite $$, especially since I wanted to go for a few weeks and see multiple places.   The only logical solution was renting an RV.  OK, cool, search for RV rentals in Alaska.   As I find them, I find that I can upgrade to packages that include bedding, dishware, etc.   As I find more info, it seems the packages are pretty light and nasty.  So, we would need to go to a store, buy a bunch of stuff, and then toss it out or donate it before we come home.   Bikes.  Gotta have bikes.  Rental car, no rental truck because I can’t drive an RV to some of the places I want to fish.    OK then, rent an RV, rent a truck, rent bikes(?), buy a bunch of housewares, and I will take all of my fishing gear.  Ugh, it started to seem like a big hassle.  Me: “Jaime, this is a hassle. You will need to drive the truck behind the RV, bikes….. housewares….”   Jaime: “TJ, why don’t we just buy an RV.”  Me: (Grin) “What?”  Oh, the mind starts racing…  Long story short, I need to introduce you all to Marge, “Large Marge”.

Large Marge

First off, the name.   We name all of our vehicles and homes.   It didn’t take us long to settle on a name.   From Pee-wee’s Big Adventure (1985) – IMDb there is a scene where a truck driving lady gives Pee-Wee a ride, and when she drops him off at a tavern, she says to Pee-Wee, “Tell ’em Large Marge sent ya!”  And then her eyes bug out like she is a ghost or something.  We’re not big fans of the movie, but that scene has been stuck in our minds for a very long time.

 

I’ve found something here.   This RV thing is a kick in the pants.  My wife is happy to be along on the adventures, and I am letting my childhood dreams take this old man’s body and soul to places I’ve not dared to dream.

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