Hittin' It, Keystone Kops Style.

Went out to a Popular spot yesterday with a couple of friends, ex-Alaskans currently living in Washington.

While avid fishers, they certainly weren't the predatory fish-ninjas that we normally fish with. We here at Neil Creek don't pass judgment on fishing ability...everyone started somewhere, and like Hinduism, you get what you want and need from fishing...but it was kind of funny to watch 4 guys snagging up, throwing casts in trees, falling in, and generally mucking about.

The great thing was, they all caught fish. We pointed, they cast (sometimes hitting the river, sometimes not), they hooked, and it was on.

out of 14 other folks on the creek, we saw and heard of one other fish. I bet that all those folks had to do was cast for a few squirrels and fall in once or twice, and it would have been on for them too.

One of Six for the Kops.

Beauty, Beast

Oplopanax horridus.

Even the name hurts.

For those of you that don't recognize it, this is the stem of Devil's club, the guardian of many a fishing hole in SE AK. Some riparian areas are so overrun with Devil's Club that even hardened addicts like ourselves yield to the force majeure and try elsewhere.

But inside that thorny exterior there is a medicinal power that has been harnessed by indigenous folks so extensively that many call it "Tlingit Aspirin". Salves, Creams, Decoctions, Potions...Everything from coughs to major flesh wounds could be treated with Devil's Club.

Because of its tendency to grow horizontally, Devil's Club turns into a nightmarish trail-sweeper when unwittingly caught and released by the errant walker's foot. After the strike, the spines break off in the flesh, causing dermatitis and in some cases weeping sores.

Ironic, no?

Fall Rears its Ugly Head

Spent all day today waiting for the heater repairman to show, only to get a 3 pm call from my wife, telling me that the appointment was canceled and Monday was the earliest they could get out.

Waste of a day, but these things happen.

During my wait I managed to tie up one of the many kinky-looking leech patterns that have been floating around in my brain. I would consider this to be some minor day-salvage, but y'all decide...



Materials are a cotter pin, 30# fireline, Krystal Hackle, Marabou, Flashabou, and a whole bunch of zap-a-gap.

The first frost warning of the year was issued today. Valleys and passes are expected to freeze, and there might be a touch of the white here at Neil Creek as well...

I'm not really ready for it to be winter yet.

From Whence Thou Came

What the hell happened to the "new generation"?

When I was a kid, you found yourself a convenient Old Man who knew something about fish and fishing, and through persistence and available stolen booze, you attached yourself to him in a parasitic fashion to glean all available knowledge about said fish and fishing.

My personal "old men" were a couple of characters...a middle-aged, "recovering-alcoholic-turned-born-again" guy that, out of deference for his patience for a dumb kid coupled with his awesome ability to catch 20lb+ Snoqualmie steelhead, shall remain nameless...and a guy by the name of Bill Kunitsugu.

Bill was an old Japanese guy living on Beacon Hill in Seattle, already retired when I met him at my young age of 14. He made an impression, because he always had time to say "Hi" on the River, and he always had a smile on his face, as if he knew something you didn't.

And believe me, folks. He did.

With Bill, between bento lunches (made by his wife, whom he met in a concentration camp during WWII) and long rides in his old "Chinook" Toyota camper, this Middle-Class White Kid got a helluva education in Adnadromous 101.

Bill was a real DIY kinda guy. He went so far as to pour his own pencil lead...he made it triangular, to give it a "higher hydrodynamic coefficient". Pouffed his own blend of yarn, too...had to have a wing of "just so", he said. The guy was an Anadromous Fish Killer on the westside of Washington. Cedar, Snoqualmie, Tokul, Raging, Skykomish, Skagit, Pilchuck, Sauk, Tolt, Stillaguamish, Samish, Cowlitz, Elochoman, Kalama, Coweeman, Toutle...Bill did 'em all, and did his best to show me each and every rivers' idiosyncrasy that made them all what they once were. For an old guy that didn't go anywhere fast, Bill caught a hell of a lot of fish.

Bill has been gone for awhile now but during his long life and short time I spent with him, he let me and a couple of other folks onto a few key things about steelheading, anadromous fish, and fishing in general.

He also rewarded my friendship with some true nuggets of wisdom that, although I may be a mouthy sonofabitch sometimes, I won't ever tell.

Bill knew alot, because he listened to the fish, and he understood that they alone could answer his questions.

In an age before Internet and Cellular, He took the time to Learn. During the age of Internet and Cellular, He took the time to Teach.

In Memory of Hiroshi "Bill" Kunitsugu, 1921-2006

A Tale of Two Toads

Well, every creek for a few hundred miles is in flood stage, so things are a little quiet around Neil Creek.

While out staring at the rising waters yesterday (got a few before the backeddy collapsed), I got a chance to wander around in the woods and happened upon this little guy:



Yes, that IS a nickel he is on.

According to my wife the biologist, this is Bufo boreas boreas, the Boreal Toad, and this particular guy is young-of-the-year, meaning about 5 months out of the tadpole stage.

Interesting what you find on the salmon stream, innit?

The next toad is courtesy of the Mad Z, who recently returned from his annual "Spey Pride" trip into Canada. Z preps for these trips for his entire year, then goes off and drives himself nuts on these huge rivers, waving long rods with huge flies, chasing gigantic steelhead for weeks on end. When he returns, he has Hell to pay in the form of 3 weeks backlog of work, but he claims that it is all worth it.

After seeing this fish, I almost believe him.

Can Ya Play Somethin Funky For a Brotha To Fish To?

Got after it at the crack o' 11 with Shaky J and Big B, headed for a local that is usually packed on weekends...

That is, on weekends where the weather is nice.

Once again, Brother Rain and Uncle Wind visited us here at the Neil Creek Estate, making today a pleasant experience for all 5 people outdoors.

The day started with a few fish givin' J the fin, probably some piscine commentary on his choice of flies for this particular hole. J, my man, if you read this, next time select a fly that is smaller than 1/9th total water depth of the pool, ok? Good.

At any rate, things picked up at one particular hole, except for J. He got fin, and lots.

A fella can only take so much, then you gotta do something, so we left in search of fish without attitude.

Pa always told me, "Don't leave fish to find fish", and those words echoed in my brain for about the next mile.

The rain picked up, and with it, the water level, albeit very slightly. Normally, this would be a good thing, but these fish were oblivious.

Even my repeated shouting of "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!" at them seemed to have no effect today.

After getting spectacular amounts of fin from very hard-to-impress fish (and trying to keep ahead of Shaky 'cause that Skunk on his back), We arrived back at the pool.

J got after it Funky style, hummin' a few bars and doin a little dance on the gravelbar, then Climbing up on a boulder to "get a better angle, brotha".

He did it all for the Sizzle.

Check it, peeps.

Nerdvana

This is the inside of Juneau Fly Goods.

One of the very few flyshops I have been in (and I have been in many, many flyshops) that stocks almost 100% full-on hardcore functional flyfishing items and equipment.

Here, you will not find the latest, hippest scarf (or bandanna, I guess is what they call them in Colorado). Nor will you find a "Flyfishing Luggage" section.

What you will find is stuff for SE AK. Good, dependable stuff, most if not all of it tested and selected by the proprietor, Big B.

No goofy fly-tying material selections, no pointless diplays...Just flyfishing stuff.

Plus, there is a comfy chair next to the fly-tying station that, provided you bring the correct brand and volume of beer, you can sink into and shoot the bull for hours with Big B or his sidekick, Crash.

Nerdvana.

Lucky it's in my town, or I'd have to relocate.