iEscape- Green, White, and Blue

What's white, blue, and green all over? ...Spearfish Canyon, of course! Winter is slowly wrapping its icy grip around the northern hills and I love it. The crisp air that makes you cough when you first breathe it in, the crunch of snow under foot, blinding sun by day-starlit by night, frozen snot in the beard, exhaling lofty-looming clouds, childlike exuberance on walks outside, cozy warmth under blankets inside. What's there not to love about winter?

Though, its been a busy road getting here. The past few weeks have been coupled with exhaustion and annoyance for me. Exhausted from school and work and annoyance with much of the same. I hate complaining and won't do it here because this is a place of realization and reflection, not moaning and groaning. However, to boil it all down, I've been met with a lot of time being wasted and opportunities not being met, created, or taken. There is nothing so irritating to me to watch rivers become dammed and left stagnant when so much else could be done- I'll put it at that. This is with people and organizations a like. I guess I really just don't like: Waste. This isn't about this matter though, to steer back on course, this has all taken a large toll on me recently, making me quite bitter at the right moments. This week was the last straw, I really couldn't handle it anymore but I really couldn't find the problem nor confront it head on. But this feeling of resentment is one that I do not like to feel nor ever want to. Finally I had an opportunity to take a break, not deal with anyone or thing that has been chipping away at my sanity, and took my inch approximately twenty miles up Spearfish Canyon, and I ESCAPED. (That's what Apple should come out with next- "Introducing the all new iEscape, free of all electronics and unnecessary junk- get outside and live life!" Ha!)

So with this ingenious new "iEscape" technology, I did what I do best- fly fish. Truthfully, the root of all frustration and anger for me is, in-equilibrium. When there's too much work, school, and annoying people/things and not enough adventure or exploration ("Outside Time" as Gretchen calls it) or simply not enough time to myself, I get pissed... Then I took a chance to slow down and decompress last night and saw how badly I was shaking, my hands literally were shaking. Some people shake from drug withdrawal or not eating for long periods of time- I shake from being out of balance in my life, from literally not fishing or going outside. Such a complex ordeal of anger has such a simple fix, and in fact I heard it best summed up by a Finnish fly fisher/jazz player last week when he said, "I'm a simple man: fish make me happy. Scarey simple."

Truly scarey.

Again today and last night, I had a startling realization. Just as the Jews in the old testament fell from God time and time again, I fell away from the things that make me happy and give me purpose. Yet, as God is benevolent, so is your passion- so are the fish. When you forget about what really makes you happy and fulfills your soul, then what else is making you happy?! Facebook, work, your iphone? Hell no!!!
This week was a wake up call, I went to church on Sunday (an awesome little Antiochian Orthodox Mission built into a house in Rapid City) and had a lot taken off my chest by meditating on whats been on my mind. It was first then that by putting a block back in its rightful space that there was still more that had to be done! But what, what hadn't I been doing? ...fishing, exploring on my own, thinking deeply. "Duh, Evan! You've been ignoring your passion again! You let things get to you, you got too much going on, you're supposed to keep it simple, remember?" I do now!

Forty degrees and sunny- no school, no work, no friends or family. In short terms, "Heaven on Earth." Not to sound like I aim to not spend time with friends and family, but I need my own space sometimes. I went way down to Cheyenne Crossing to scout Yates Ponds. Grabbed my trusty Sage and headed out. I've fished here a lot, its a favorite spot of mine and I loved to take my clients here back in the fall for the prime chance of hooking a huge fish. But there's more to this spot, and it's hidden by tall spruce trees.

Well the ponds weren't fishing too well today, or rather I was throwing a huge streamer at fish that prefer tiny nymphs, and so I decided to take a look in the woods. I saw a glassy blue run, etched through dazzling white snow and slates of ice inside a tall green wall of spruces. For a moment- just a split second- I thought about throwing my phone away, giving all my cash to the poor, and never leaving that spot. Its amazing how quickly you remember how to be happy, what a profound and instant effect it has on you. I made a few casts across the current with my streamer and as I was ready to leave and find a new place to fish and was stripping in my line, I noticed a giant trout come from under a weed mat and slowly follow after the fly. I twitched it up stream a little faster and he sped up to chase it. In a ray of sun through the branches my bright white streamer stopped and the giant fish came from behind and engulfed it. I set the hook and the fish twisted, turned, and splashed- ran for branches and sticks. I locked my rod in my wrist and lifted his head out of the water and knelt down to net him. The water stung as I reached in to clasp him and take the hook out. And as soon as he was in my hand he was gone again, invisible under the clear, blue water. Then again the urge to never leave came sweeping back, "Why would anyone do anything else with their lives?!"

I went to a few new spots in the upper canyon today, where the spruces reign and the stream is much more intimate. I never get too many chances to fish up there, but I'm always excited and surprised when I do. The big fish was the only one I got today but that wasn't the reason why I went out. I needed a break, I needed to get out, I needed to get back in balance and to be happy again. There's nothing like pulling over at some random point on the road and walking into the woods and stumbling on something beautiful- be it fish or water or rock or something else, maybe just an idea. No one is ever perfect, but to at least be balanced, that is all we can ask for! Happiness is found in equilibrium, as is perfection.

I'm sure I'll find myself in a few months or years or days realizing this all over again, its just the nature of our daily lives. Though this realization isn't a scarey one, more helpful than anything, what's scarey is how out of balance and mad I've been for so long (at most a month, I'll be it.) And I'm never mad- ever! It just goes to show that little things add up and big things take their toll. That life today is so much more inclined to make you mad, that there really isn't such a thing called an iEscape- even though that's really what the world needs. The saving grace is that the iEscape isn't found in stores though, its inside us, and maybe we just forgot about it as I did. Pull that sucker out and go for an adventure, do what makes you happy! Its such a scarey, simple fix! I can literally feel my soul being happy right now...

 

Spare Change.

The last time I visited Hay Creek- my dearly beloved stream, my Nirvana, my Valhalla; close connection between some of  my first memories, family members, and life lessons; a hidden gem that I've called mine for years and many more to come- I arrived to unimaginable change.

Though the dead end trail was still overrun by the natural process, something about it seemed even more formidable, I knew something was array- there was a feeling in my gut that somewhat halted me from proceeding down the old stage coach road. In my mind, I accepted that the land could change. That trees would fall and weeds would reign. But even I, who first told the River Story and who has immense passion for the power of water on land and mind, neglected the power of it's forces on the little stream of mine. This past spring was a wild one in my sweet homeland of Minnesota. As much of the world was dying of thirst, we had more than our fair share! The same forces that created the place I loved over time I thought was something that was a legend of old. The twisted and mangled concrete bridge, the railroad trusses, all old ruins that hearkened a distant and turbulent past. But as all things, things of which we have no control, the past became renewed. That spring, massive floods- I dare not say "destroyed"- but totally altered the headwaters of the stream. Limestone boulders, still crisp and yellow, were strewn across the entire stream bed, pools totally purged, riffles moved, runs widened or filled in. Upon seeing my little stream, a pristine ribbon of blue amongst gold and green, it seemed now oddly foreign to me...

But just thinking of it now, I feel ashamed in myself. Ashamed because when I looked into the turquoise pools, I saw no fish. Ashamed because I swore a lot and was angry at what had happened. Ashamed because I lost hope and feeling for my stream. I left within an hour of starting, disappointed and disheartened at the sight. I'm ashamed now because I broke my own rule: I turned my back on a lifelong friend. Change is a natural process, as is trees falling, floods coming, and rivers constantly shifting. I forgot that change can happen even to me.

If I could go back to that day- and be my own shadow- I'd slap myself and say, "What are you thinking? This is normal! This is just a little bit change!" It's simply a matter of time before the "new normal" settles in.

It begs the question, how come change is such an easy thing to think about, yet when it happens- we all think the world is going to end? I know we've all dreamed of new homes, new jobs, new relations, but that sort of change is trivial, and frankly usually never happens. Change that shakes us to our core is when we seem happy, content, and familiar. When grandma suddenly dies, we lose our job, or we maybe even want to switch our majors, and take things for granted. There is nothing so terrifying when someone loses their i-phone! But what about people from slums getting a good degree and getting high paying jobs? Positive change? To me- that's another beast named, initiative. Similar effects but of another kind. Change is a frightening word to people. Unknown means leading to unknown ends. Total loss of control.
Though it is usually for the better in the end, like getting dumped then finding a new, more perfect lover, it all comes down to time. When it hits, when you react, when you crumble, when you rebuild. All factors between life and death- figuratively.

 Notice the underlined phrase, "...take things for granted." Why is it when everything is hunky-dowry, feces always seem to hit the fan? My grandmother was progressively losing her mind. It was a real and hard fact, a fact that truly scared me and turned me away from her in the final years. I accepted and took for granted the fact that my grandmother was getting old and had forgotten my name and I would stop in from time to time to say hi and give her a kiss. From out of nowhere change happened, she got hurt and finally entered the Kingdom of Heaven. That event shook my family. Reflecting, without remorse or anger, perhaps I should have done more with her. But that change brought about many positives as well, one thing was to bring the family from across the world back together to a small waiting lobby in the hospital, there to help and support each other. Something Grandma had always wished for.

It hurts us to be humble if you dig down deep enough. To accept loss of control is the hardest pill to swallow. To admit to laziness, lack of gratitude, false pride- there is no thing so unimaginably hurtful to do. But through change, we are forced to- forced to stop and look face-first into our own lives. That is what we are afraid of. We are creatures of comfort in an ever changing world.   

I don't think change will ever be an easy thing to "do." But we can learn to how to live better, to understand all things as a Gift. To say, "Thank you" to God, friends, family, strangers, places or objects, or even just yourself. To smile during good and bad times, to look for hidden meanings and ways to grow. Change is terrifying but the result of it shouldn't be.

For all those friends and families that I've neglected to check in with- please I know that I haven't forgotten you, you're in my prayers, and I'll get around to it soon! Everyone please have a happy and safe holiday season, be unceasingly grateful, and try to reflect on ways to grow.

As for my stream, I know it will only be a matter of time- as Rivers embody Change. 

   

Gold Fever- a measure of success

What's amazing is how perfectly this trip happened, in action and reflection. It's been a couple weeks since the troop returned from the Cloud Peak Wilderness in Wyoming, and we had originally made plans to go this weekend- but the near west and surrounding Black Hills has recently been receiving snow and cold temperatures. Not saying that snow is bad, its just that when you're camped in the shadow of a 13000' peak, weather can be extreme...

No, the trip was perfect in its spontaneous ways! We started the four hour drive to the Big Horns at 9:00 pm, and arrived at the trail head somewhere a little after 1:00am. We then hiked a mile or two, without a detailed map, in awe of a full moon and silhouettes of peaks around us. We made a quick camp in a frozen mossy bog just into the wilderness boundary and settled in our bags with a cold nip down our backs and enthusiasm in our laughs. We woke up early, had a few bags of oat meal, and hiked for "four squares" or probably four/five miles (because the map we did have of the area was grossly lacking of detail and measurements) to the shore of Mistymoon Lake and the embrace of Cloud, Black Tooth, and Bomber Mountains. From the trail head we gained almost 2000' of elevation with the hike.

Mistymoon Lake is a cool spot, and if your lucky to get the rocky outcropping like we did, the views are to die for. We set up camp in the direct line of fire of the full moon and rising sun over the peaks and lake. We spent the second night reclined on the granite slabs gazing at the moon's puppet show of clouds and watching the lake go from black to ripples of molten silver. Then a front moved in and blacked everything out but the whisper of wind and we went to bed.

As the expeditions of old, we all came to the mountains for our own reasons- Joe, Dennis, Bear, and I- but found ourselves closer together in the common pursuit of simply being there in the wilderness. Some of us wanted to summit the 13000' Cloud Peak, others wanted to simply do whatever we wished and enjoy the awesome grandeur of the place, and I- I was the mad prospector. Like the old days, I heard through the generosity of a friend that there was in fact real life gold below Cloud Peak. With whimsical stories and alluring propositions, I had to stake my own claim in those mountains. Its been one of many life ambitions since I was very young to find this type of extremely rare and elusive gold that can only be found at or around 10000' above sea level. The kind that's made strong men go mad, made city dwellers elope with mountains, and- to many- surpasses any other fine metal there is. Oncorhynchus aguabonita- Google it, or learn Latin, and maybe you'll understand what I mean. 

There's a very small lake in the wilderness area that is one of the last strongholds for this amazing piece of nature, and as soon as we made it to Mistymoon, I was hot on the trail again to find it somewhere in between the mountains. On the hike up, anxiety mounted, "What if they're not in there?" "What fly should I use?" "How far is the lake, what if the weather turns for the worst?" " How should I fish the lake when I get there?" The trail climbed up steeply into a pass and there, nestled along the mountain walls was the lake. I followed a small stream over boggy ground to the stream's mouth and tail end of the lake. I knelt and slowly took position on the bank and scanned the murky, green water. Right away I saw one dart from the mouth of the stream into the depths. "Good," I thought, "they're in here." I rigged up and put on a big bushy dry fly to entice the most ADHD of the fish to strike. But it took a long time and many blind casts, and even took to the point of deliberately planning on looking away from the water. 

There was stage-fright for both of us...but sure enough, as soon I put the idea in my head of setting my rod down to run and get my rain gear a few yards away, I heard a distinct and loud "PLOP" from the water. I whipped my gaze back to the lake and was dumbstruck for a second to see the ripples on the surface of the water! I remembered then to set the hook and a few seconds later, I saw one of the most beautiful things of my life. From the green depths came blood-red flashes and the jutting through the rod of a thrashing head. I knelt down and simply couldn't believe it, I did it- I struck gold, in my hand was communion with true and natural beauty. 

Golden trout can truly make strong men go mad...

I caught upwards of ten fish or more that day. 

The next morning was cold, the sun shone over the mountains and lake in a clear blue sky. We were all tired, facing exhaustion from high altitude and hard hiking. We rounded up on the precipice our camp was set up on and bathed in the sun huddling inside winter layers as the first hints of a breeze licked at our backs. "Well," Joe said quickly, "how are we all feeling?" We were all beaten and battered, Joe had a huge open sore on his heal, Bear was tired and sore, Dennis' heart would start beating extremely fast and get light headed when he exerted himself, and I was tired and my feet were sore. The proposition of climbing a mountain was looking slim.  Despite it all though, Bear was the one who rallied the crew to gear up and try the climb. We hiked a half mile from camp around the bend and over a hill to see the start of the climb across a small stream in the bottom of the valley from a few hundred feet above on a steep hillside. To our surprise Joe reluctantly had to turn back to camp because both of his feet then had open sores and the it wasn't worth climbing the mountain and hiking out on two bum feet in one day. So the three of us carried on, without a map but strong will, to the summit of cloud peak. It was a grueling climb, climbing over boulders and loose rocks, constantly scanning the bland moonscape for cairns- stacks of rocks- loosely mapping a trail to the top. We started late, left camp around 9:00am- which doesn't sound bad, right? In terms of mountaineering, that only gave us four hours to hike around 2 miles or more vertically and back again. Why four hours, that doesn't seem impossible? Storms- they roll in on peaks around 1:00-3:00pm and a mountain peak is not where you want to get stuck for a rain/snowstorm. Not to mention we had to hike out of the back country that same day! It was a tall order but we were determined. We toiled for two and a half, maybe three hours to try and get to the top, or what we thought it was.

Cloud peak is relatively easy to climb as there's a ramp or a gradual incline to the top, and is more dome shaped before the last push of 1000'. As we came to the top of the dome the actual peak was hidden on the other side, so we were somewhat confused- I remember we all asked, "Is this really the top?" "Did we do it?" A few tired steps further and we saw it- dark blue, cold, and dusted with snow. The sight was honestly not an inspiring one. The will was there but time was against us at that point, dark clouds were gathering along the slope, our turnaround time was in twenty minutes. We sat on a some boulders and looked back behind from where we came, we could see the small blue ribbon of the stream we crossed at the beginning, we could even see the lakes we passed on the hike to Mistymoon (which were probably five or six miles from the peak.) To see the world from such a grand position, to see your accomplishment and hard work, makes a person feel small when cradling the side of a mountain. We sat in silence for a quite a while up there, the wind had really picked up, the temperature dropped.

"Well guys, what time is it?" "We have twenty minutes til turn-around." "We can make it guys!" "I don't know man, that's further than we think." "Those clouds don't look good. And we still have to hike down and out." "Yeah but we're so close, I'm gonna be disappointed if we don't make it!" "Don't make it an ego trip, that's how people die man!" "We have twenty minutes, how about we hike as far as we can and be proud of what we did accomplish with our bull**** planning!" "Lets do it!" "Sounds good."

We made it to the ridge just below the peak, it would have taken another half an hour maybe but nothing was in our favor. We sat in awe, exhaustion, and defeat as the peak stood solemn and menacing above us. We took it all in: the snowy ridge across the valley, the sun soaked landscape below us, the crisp air, it was a amazing. Reluctantly our time was up, so we so started back down, aspirations set high to one day return again.

We made it down the mountain in an hour and back to camp before two hours. Ate a hardy lunch, packed up camp, and hiked out. On the way we stopped at twilight to listen to some bull elk bugle from only a few hundred yards away- close enough that after a few seconds after their eerie cries we could here the crackling thunder of antlers and an intense battle for power. We hiked like robots into the night, our feet numb, backs and shoulders stinging, yet we were blissfully content. Around 9:00pm we made it to the trail head and made it home a little after 1:00am.

The magic of mountains is that they put you in your place. They are the extreme examples of power, strength, and determination- those are also the characteristics that they invoke in you when in their footsteps. Just as the old cliche goes, "Rome wasn't built in a day," many mountains aren't climbed on the first try. In many cases its a life's endeavor. I went to the wilderness for golden trout and I found them, climbing a mountain was just a bonus. I honestly doubted myself the morning of the climb, but I couldn't be happier of how far I got. The sores and stiffness were badges of my determination. Measuring success is futile and pointless! The true joy of an experience is from what changed in yourself. Don't go to the mountains wanting to conquer them, because they'll crush your ego without trying. Don't go fishing planning to catch fifty fish, they'll skunk you with delight. Be humble, push as hard as you can, learn from everything around you, be thankful for what you have and what you've done, enjoy your surroundings, be happy and share your happiness: That is Success, anything else is waste.

Cloud Peak- I'll see you in spring.   

(All but two photos courtesy of Joe Nagle)

     


  

The saying goes that "life begins at the end of the road..."

School is well underway now, and for a class field trip, we drove about twenty minutes into the hills to an obscure pull off down a long dirt road. We hiked in a quarter mile and memorized some rare plant species and stopped along the bubbling brook that gouged out the mountain side. As we stood there resting in the sun a student asked where we were, the professor answered, “Griggs Gulch.” I searched it on maps and asked around town, and indeed it is Griggs Gulch, a beautifully secluded place that is untouched by tourists and most locals allowing it to become a safe haven for extremely rare plants to call home and for the true black hills still thrive. Earlier this week Gretchen and I went back to Griggs Gulch to further explore its depths. The trail started off strong as dirt, then got lighter and over grown, then we were forced to bushwhack and use the small brook as a route through the wild place. Near the end of the gulch was the source of the brook, a beautiful mossy cascade of fresh aquifer water. It was cold, clear, and untouched, gurgling up from under boulders and a small mossy wall that stood about six feet tall. We stayed there for a while in awe of this pure and natural splendor, I have a small (or rather large) obsession with spring fed waters and their mechanics, beauty, and natural blessing for the world. What’s a cooler welcome to a new home than a beautiful and secret spot in hills that shares your name? And with my family history here in South Dakota, who knows- it may have even been discovered or named by my own ancestors!  

 

I’ve spent almost a month in my new home now, in Spearfish, SD, and it’s truly a paradise for everything I want and need in life. Spearfish has a feel of a little mountain town, perched above the golden and rolling prairies of western South Dakota. Its hustle and bustle with all ages that are busy biking, climbing, hiking, and fishing the adjacent black hills, yet holds a Midwestern charm and friendliness to it that many higher-end mountain towns lack. Its everyman’s mountain town with less cost, less crowding/commercialization, more outdoor opportunities, and most importantly- less assholes! Upon my arrival and prolonged stay, I set clear priorities for success in my new home:  1) fishing spots, 2) hiking trails, 3) school, 4) work. Thus far everything has been accomplished. The second week in town, I was hired on to Dakota Angler and Outfitter's guide crew and am in the process of becoming a naturalist at the Outdoor Campus West for the SD-GFP. I have gone camping on the tops of mountains, hiked and fished in only a fraction of a fraction of what the area has to offer. I'm damn near heaven I'd say...

Spearfish is affectionately called the “Queen City” due to its location in the valley between three prominent mountains- Spearfish, Lookout, and Crow Peak which form a “crown” around the valley. It’s also situated along the banks of Spearfish Creek named by the first white-men to venture into the area and saw natives spearing fish in the creek. The creek has made a popular natural splendor known as Spearfish Canyon. This is home-base for all adventures: be it fishing, hiking, climbing, biking- it truly abounds with opportunity and is a beautiful place in the world. The canyon is home to some fantastic wild brook, brown, and rainbow fishing, five-hundred rock climbing routes, and numerous trails that lead to everything from hidden ghost towns, caves, and mountain vistas. 

There’s an overwhelming sense of freedom here- perhaps not in the sense of “anything, anywhere, anytime,” but its damn close. There’s few things you “need” in order to get outdoors here, as opposed to northern MN where canoes are king- which is a beautiful fact. But here, all you need is a will and a good pair of shoes and you can get lost for days. Last night, Gretchen and I hiked to the top of Old Baldy mountain and slept under the stars: perfect weather, no bugs, only one mouse in the middle of the night- this place is an adventurer’s paradise. And in the morning the sunrise was bright pink and shown the fall aspens in their golden glory on the hill sides. Fall is creeping in with inconspicuous grace these days and I am thoroughly excited for the year to come. 

To sum it up, I’m adjusting quite well. The trout are plenty, trails sprawling, and school and jobs rewarding. I’ve come to realize that people are the same wherever you go, and it’s no reason why you should change yourself. Yeah, there are more cowboy hats than canoes here, it’s not at the end of the road but in the middle of it- perched in an oasis that goes over looked by those caught on their journeys further east or west- but it’s all the same, its home.  

    

The Wanderer and "Welcome to the Jungle"

 Ulysses S. Griggs- the Rough Rider, the land surveyor, the civil engineer, the Lakota's friend, "The Wanderer" and my great-grandfather. Here is the missing link to my love for exploration and adventure, its been in my blood this whole time...





But I digress, this summer season I was offered a chance to visit a place I've been only once before many years ago. A place that often is left behind on my list of places to travel or fish in- "off the radar." A place that I knew almost nothing about. A place with mountains that once stood taller than Everest, with the second most annual rainfall in the nation behind Seattle, and some of the most rewarding hiking and fishing opportunities I've known yet. Pisgah National Forest in western North Carolina was my stomping ground with Will Lillard, the fearless leader of Lillard Fly Fishing Expeditions, for the month of June.

It's truly a jungle experience, think canopies of trees usually shaded us at all times, and thick undergrowth of vines and rhododendron filled in the river banks and valleys, while in other areas the ground was blanketed by lush ferns and grasses. Will and I led the first trip of Memphis University school for two weeks across this lush and beautiful area for two weeks.  We did a bit of "front-country"camping along the Davidson River, just outside of Brevard, NC to get the group on par with their fishing techniques. Then for five night, six days we hiked along the East Fork of the Pigeon River and the South Mills River.

The fishing in PNF is usually for small yet wild, spooky, and spunky brook, brown, and rainbow trout. I've spent years and years on spring creeks full of trout of similar stature, but this fishing was some of the most technical and physically demanding that I've done. The only way to catch these trout was to cast from downstream and float the fly over them. Not so crazy, right? Keep in mind that these rivers are ancient, these mountains has withstood the tests of time, the rivers have eaten away much of their beds straight to the bed rock, there is no way you can fish from the bank (as illustrated from the photo above,) and once you take a few fish from a hole you have to move on. The name of the game was to hike down stream a mile or two or three and walk in the river back up to camp through rapids, over falls, and your on top of impossibly slippery boulders and bedrock the entire time. In short- its so f***ing awesome! The fish hide under the shade along the rhodo and behind rocks and in the deep pockets below waterfalls and in the rapids, and despite their size of 6-10 inches, I had multiple rainbows and browns fight like they were twenty inches. They'd go running up stream, down stream, and swim circles around you until you put your hand on them...even then they don't stop fighting- truly wild and beautiful fish.

 

The back country was a great experience for all of us on the trip. And the rainforest stuck true to its name- it rained everyday for two weeks, and anything that was left outside and got soaked was soaked for the rest of the trip as the intense humidity wouldn't allow anything to dry. It didn't phase us though, at least those who didn't choose to level their packs uncovered and tents open. Other than the weather, the first trip went without a hitch and I think all of us came away with an experience we'll always remember and better outdoor/fishing skills we can take all over the world.

Its a beautiful and delicate ecosystem in the jungle, with a maze of footpaths that tangle their way through tunnels of rhododendron and disorient your views with a overwhelming array of green life. You start down a foot path and walk what would seem a good distance and yet have halfhearted faith of exactly where you would end up, you stop at one point and listen, through the birds and breeze, for the roar of a waterfall. If there is nothing, you turn around- if there is a roar hidden within the maze, you keep trekking deeper in and continue the routine until it gets louder and louder, and then through a crack in the tunnel you can see it. The falls acted as sirens, a luring voice calling through the unknown, calling you to paradise. You'd twist and wind through the under growth until, BAM, there you are at the foot of this massive wall of water and rock. I'm so used to the big sky and open plains, this was truly claustrophobic at some points, its eerie to go it alone, but that was my style. I aimed for the pools at the base of the falls, not only because they held fish, but for the excitement and sense of adventure they held to try and find them. That's how it was in Panthertown Valley on Cold Mountain, same as the civil war novel and the start of the blue ridge mountains, we spent two days there on the second trip. There's waterfalls everywhere in that jungle and all of them are awesome in there own way.

      The second trip was my favorite by far. Not only was the weather way better than the first half of the month, but the group of kids was great and I was able to us the skills I've picked up in Ely and Outdoor Leadership. There's nothing quite as cool as getting a group of teenagers from around the country to become friends and efficient back country travelers and fly fishers. It was the coolest thing ever when the kids who more experienced than the others would go out of their way to help and teach their peers.

A life changing, and addicting experience was what I got from my time in the jungle. Its unlike anything I've seen or encountered before, a place that challenges you around every corner and forces you to be witty and creative, yet has the power to slow you down and make you stand in awe of its ancient beauty. And if you really slow down and take it all in, it can reward you with treasures and memories that will last you a life time. I shall return.

A Short Story...

I returned to the north country of Minnesota this week for a few nights to visit Gretchen and explore the "other side" of the BWCA. Gunflint lake and Gunflint Lodge sit on the US-Canadian border, overlooking the '99 blow down and 2007 Ham Lake fire remnants, the area lacks the great white and red pine forests that tower around Ely. But its an area that shows the true nature of the area (pun intended,) and how resilient and perfected the ecosystem is for growing back fast after a burn. Gretchen and I aren't much for cushy lodges though, and we fund our selves paddling around a near peninsula to a campsite where we would stay. In the heat of a summer day, we sat on the birch tree bench behind the fire grate drying off from a swim, there was a little breeze coming across the sky blew water cooling our fronts as the sun baked our backs. We sat their, not saying much, both more lost in our own thoughts, and I found myself focused on a rock just off the shore that was sticking out of the water. Everyone has heard the saying about throwing a rock into a pond, but this rock was different than the one thrown. This rock was already in the pond, it had already made its ripples, it was now firmly fixed in its place. The pond, or 8 mile long, 200 ft deep Gunflint lake, was sending its own splashes back on the rock. Yet the rock, solid where it stood, still sent reciprocated ripples back into the constant motion of the lake. It got me thinking for the rest of the day...

Later Gretchen showed me one of her favorite spots, Look Out Point. It was just a short hike from the lodge and sat atop a granite cliff over the lake and ancient hills. We talked about life and goals, ideas on it all and then the spot sort of took over and we just meditated, totally zoned out. The rock came back to mind as I gazed over the peninsula we were camped on:

The rock is you, each and every day.

The lake was the stimulus we receive from our lives: family, friends, strangers, work, school, weather, everything good and bad, anything that can affect us- that splashes up against us. The waves are how we react to it all, what we give back, what kind of "vibes" we put back into the world. Its our perception of the world. Will our ripples back be big or small, positive or negative? Its a constant play of giving and receiving in life, a true lesson in "give and you shall receive," "love thy neighbor"- just being and doing things positively makes such a huge step towards being happy and successful. It takes a bit of reflection and humility to do so, but it can turn into a domino effect. One nice gesture leads to another, leads to a new friend or exciting experience, or good connection to a better job, a new fishing spot, whatever life throws at you...how are you going to receive it? What will you give back? How are you going to live your life?

A friendly wave, a smile and nod, a simple question, holding a door- start with small waves and see what comes from it. You may be surprised.         

        

Pure Water

Where is it in the world that you become your best, where all of your talents are shown, and best qualities shine through, where everything is right and good? For me- it is a tiny blue vein of water, snaking through valleys and woods. A place with history, character, and remoteness.

Wherever you go in the world, trout streams have a defining characteristic- clean, pure, blue water. But, no matter where you go, every stream is different. Some are large and forgiving, others are a few feet wide and extremely challenging, and then there's everything in between. Some are slow and winding, others are torrent and jagged. Some hold monstrous, ferocious fish, others have delicate individuals that define finesse. But they all are connected by that indisputable crystalline-blue water...

Every fisher-person eventually in their life comes to holds one of those streams above all the rest, be it because of the fishing, the scenery, memories had there, or even because they see a little bit of themselves in the moving waters. I've fished in quite a few different places: Yellowstone NP, Glacier NP, the Madison, Gallatin, Bighorn, Kinnickinnic, Rush, Root, Whitewater, and various others in the northern and southern tips Minnesota and southern Wisconsin. They are all beautiful, all hold great fish, have great people- but if I had one day left to live, I'd want to spend it on the banks of the shy and quiet Hay Creek. Most have never heard of it, a good majority Minnesota fly fishers have probably fished it a few times, but in my book- it tops all. For those who've never heard of it or have an idea of what a Minnesotan trout stream might look like, I'll try to explain why this creek tops the nation's best rivers in the west.
Hay creek starts from a good sized spring coming from the side of a large hill, hidden beneath a vale of deciduous trees. It zigzags through a small cow pasture lined by tall limestone bluffs, the valley is cut in half by a turn of the century railroad line and stagecoach road. Remnants of these can be seen by a few trusses still left standing on the edges of a few pools where a bridge once crossed over the stream and a huge concrete slab that was once a low bridge crossing the stream that had been ripped from its concrete footings and tossed down stream about 75 yards during a raging flood. After the cow pasture and picturesque valley, the stream runs along the side of a bluff and cuts through a forest that in the spring time is full of wildflowers and wild turkeys. It runs through the woods in a deep, shadowed valley between the bluffs for a couple of miles to another field of tall prairie grasses and cow pasture and eventually into woods again and snakes its way all the way back to Red Wing and into the Mississippi. Before this new field, the stream is patterns of riffle, run, pool, riffle, run pool and the deeper water is a bright turquoises blue. This section rarely ever sees fishermen except for the knowledgeable and determined and its where it all began for me, this crazy passion of mine.

Before spring break, school and life had been hectic. All I could wish for was to have a fly rod in hand, crouching on the banks of this little gem of mine- and a week of freedom was all the chance I needed to finally break loose, break away, and dissolve back into the realm of bliss I yearned for so badly. The very next day I was home from Ely, my best friend and I took a jaunt down to the stream and fished below the deep valley in the pasture.

We had it all to ourselves. It was mostly cloudy and cold, but it didn't matter- we were there and used all the time we had and honed our very best skills--- for Hay Creek demands excellence when it comes to it's fishing. One must refrain from waking too hard, moving their shadow over the water, and casting carelessly while there, for it's fish- though usually small- are smart and spooky as hell. More often than not, we crawled to the bank and nymphed without an indicator as to try and not disturb the weary trout, though they usually have the upper hand as the water is perfectly clear. As my dad told me when I was still the apprentice, "If you can see them, they've already seen you."

You might think, "That sounds like hell!?" Well you're kind of right- but its what I love.We spent four hours there with numb fingers, sore knees, and only landed one trout to show for it. But that's just how it is on Hay Creek, it's like what appeals my girlfriend to cross country skiing, "You have to ski up the hill to go down it." Hard work for the reward, but even though small- its well worth it. You can see the fish at the bottom of the pools, like an aquarium and you sit there drooling and rain storming to figure out the missing piece of the puzzle until it falls into place and a fish strikes. It's fantastic torture. While I was warming my hands I let Beau fish the pool I had stalked up on, "Just cast it at the bottom of the riffles, you want it on the edge of that undercut- in the bubble line." He did just that, and half way down the pool, as the fly sank to the kill zone, a spunky trout struck his fly. A few splashes and cheers later I netted the fish and we took a quick second to revel in his beauty. It was well worth the torture.

    


Come the end of the week, I happened upon the realization that my thirst hadn't been quenched quite yet. So a couple days before my break was over, I brought my girlfriend back to the same spot. It was a much more pleasant day, Gretchen bathed in the sun and I fished.

 

It was warm with little to no breeze, and we were all alone on the water again. From the previous trip I had remembered where some of the fish had been holding up in the deeper water, but with the bright sun, I had to be even more weary of my shadow and movements around the water. But this whole method to the madness inevitably slows you down in general. You sit along the water's edge and you're silent, still, and watching. Watching the water, the fish, the bugs, the things around you, the clouds and birds above. You breathe easy and say, "This is $%@king awesome..." and mean it in the best way possible. Things just figure themselves out or they are forgotten all together. That's the beauty of equilibrium. That's the essence of Hay Creek.

To be honest, I didn't move much that day. I really pretty much fished the same pool because I knew the fish were there in front of me. You see, on the Bighorn River at the end of the day and you got skunked or only got one fish, you're a little angry that you didn't catch more. In the Driftless, especially Hay Creek, I learned how to be humble. Though I fished in mostly one pool, I caught three fish and hooked probably four- that's a damn good day for my stream. Though I sat there all day looking at the pure, clear, clean water at the pod of fish at the bottom- I thought my ass off and figured out the puzzle. I started with my favorite nymph pattern, a bead-head pheasant tail nymph, couldn't tell you the size probably an 16 or 18. Fished without split shot or indicator and drifted it over the fish time and time and time again watching their reaction, learning the timing. A few fish would look up at it but none would strike. Stumped I stopped for a little while and waited for something to happen when, out of no where, there was a splash on the water and a gold streak headed back to the pod. "Emergers, maybe." Waited for the next clue, a little black midge skidded across the water in front of me. "I'll go with emergers!" I recast and let my fly sink until just in front of the pod, when I lifted my line slowly out of the water as it floated over them (like a bug going to the surface from the bottom.) Boom! An instant hit and the first fish landed. That was the first fish I've held in months, I was so excited I kissed the fish all over, released it, and ran over to hug Gretchen, absolutely wiggling with joy. She laughed and sent back to do it again, and so I did. That's a specific instance that many choose as their reason to fly fish- to figure out the equilibrium and to replicate it. For myself, there's very few feelings that I know to top it and I can perfectly recall every time I've seen it.

Did this become a fishing story? I'm sorry if it did. Hay Creek has a shy, calm personality that can bring out the innermost joy in anyone who gets to solve its daily riddle. That day was mine. I asked Gretchen what she thought about the creek, just as a bystander. "I love it!" she said with a smile.

"Are you just saying that to make me happy?"

"No, I actually love it, it's so quite and when you just listen to the rapids you can completely let your mind go blank and relax. It's beautiful here, the water is blue, there's no one around. I'd be a fool not to love it!"

"Cool." I smiled.

 Yeah, I've caught twenty five inch trout on the Bighorn, scrambled over mountains to get to tiny streams brimming with fish in Yellowstone, seen epic caddis hatches and stonefly hatches on the Madison. But there's more than fishing on Hay Creek- there's a lesson around every corner, a memory at every pool and hill top, forgotten history locked away in the woods. Its the perfect place to escape and become one again- with yourself, with nature, with your God, or with whatever is going on inside you. I love Hay Creek- I can't get it any more simple than that. With in its pure clean water is a challenge and message for us all- not only with its fishing- but with everything that embodies it as a whole.

Where's your favorite water- and why?

To sneak in some advertising: If you want to experience Hay Creek for yourself- I'd be honored to show you around my home water. Take a look at the Guided Fly Fishing page for more info and prices.

     

                                          

SPRING CLEANING #1 "Going herbivore"

  Going Herbivore

 

 

"O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, despair, lust of power, and idle talk.
But give rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant.
Yea, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own transgressions, and not to judge my brother, for blessed art Thou, unto ages of ages. Amen."
 ~Lenten Prayer of St. Ephrem 

Great Lent is well underway now. It is a time for Christians worldwide to sacrifice something "important" from their lives to repent and become closer to God. We all know lent from our youths when we would give up t.v. or ice cream or saying bad words for the 40 day fast. But its much deeper than just giving something up, its much more than ice cream or t.v. And this year I've embraced that fact. Being an Orthodox Christian is a way of life and on this seven week journey, I've already learned so much about my faith and myself.

In St. Ephrem's prayer, we can find a perfect example of what Lent is aimed at accomplishing within the individual. This is a period of which we are all to reflect on and better ourselves above all else in our life. This means to cut as many distractions from our lives as possible- or fasting (hence the "no pop or tv" notion.) In accordance to Orthodox tradition, during the Lenten period, Orthodox Christians are called to not eat meat or fish with a backbone, nor dairy products, nor olive oil, or to consume alcohol. When people hear that list, they seriously question me, "Why?!" Granted, its been a few weeks and I've seriously been hurting for a few McDoubles by now- but why go through all the trouble? Why overhaul my routine and do something that is entirely not easy- especially here at my school (since most of the food is meat or drowning in cheese)?  

 

Well- answer me this- how many times have you set out in life to change something about your habits or character and have it succeed for a few weeks, but then you fall back into your old ways do to convenience? I know I've done it with most things I've ever tried to change. "I'm going to study more", "I'm going to exercise more", "I'm going to read more", "I'm going to go to church more", "I'm going to quit smoking/drinking." This list can go on for an eternity. Going herbivore isn't what I'm doing for Lent, I'm not "giving up" meat and dairy. This is a tool to help me accomplish my goal- to become a: Better Person and a more well-rounded Orthodox Christian.

 

In order to set in motion this cascading effect of betterment, there must be a consequential process of attitudinal adjustment- the ultimate result being: Utmost Gratitude. But because everyone isn't perfect, we can lose focus and drive with our ambitions, so we need extra wood to stoke our fire. For Orthodox, that extra wood is the sacrifice of convenience and some level of enjoyment of having no meat and dairy. Do multiple "negatives" make a positive though? With an essentially vegan diet, on top of an awareness of all my flaws, and the urging need to try and replace the negatives with positive attributes, topped off with increased prayer and spiritual vigil. Sounds like a mess headed toward inevitable destruction, doesn't it!?

 

At the end of the day, drawing in the cool, moist evening air- all that's left is gratitude. The fasting initiates gratitude for God's creations, for the things you have and don't have, for the good and bad experiences had in the past and present. It may be a process that could send many to insanity, but the integral part of it all is having gratitude, faith, and motivation- belief in your God and in yourself. Lent is the binding element between God and the very basic elements of our characters. Going herbivore and fasting from other bad things isn't the point- its the heightened self awareness and motivation towards self betterment, and the increased spirituality into everyday life that makes you become the best that you can be. Lent isn't just for Christians, its for everyone that acknowledges that they could be better to their brothers and sisters in the world, and wants to be better, and strives to be! Gratitude is contagious, and spawns humility, unity, compassion. It helps us forgive and relax, to meditate and pray and to cherish what we have. It changes lives if given a chance for its roots to hold fast to the bedrock within our character. 

From this quickly dwindling Lent, I feel I have so far learned the meaning of gratitude. Maybe its insurmountable compared to some and the opposite to others, but in my own eyes and my own life I am grateful for: my education, my family and friends, my freedoms and liberties, my health, my personal finances, my talents and weaknesses, my good and bad expereinces, fly fishing, nature, food (herbivore and omnivore), clean water and air, the sturdy roof over my head, electricty, air conditioning, shoes I'm thankful for my Orthodox faith and- most importantly- my God, and , no matter how trivial or important it is- it is a gift.

 

Lent doesn't have to be contained and, in many ways, it isn't. The act of being a good person or a good Christian is simply condensed, intensified, and given a name during this time so that people remember to reflect on themselves, to be grateful, and to become better in a whole. As the end of this Great Fast draws near, do STOP...........and reflect.........on your relationship with God and with your neighbors. How can you be more thankful for all that you have, how can you treat your loved ones (and those that you don't know) better------ and how are you going to change your life to do it? 

 

I pray that you all remeber the prayer of St. Ephrim sometime again in your life, and that maybe you'll even recite it- to God or to no one- its message helps us all.