patience

Step 1
Abide, anticipate, await, bide, bide one's time, cool it, dally, delay, expect, fill time, foresee, hang around, hang onto your hat, hang out, hold back, hold everything, hold on, hold the phone, hole up, keep shirt on, lie low, look for, look forward to, mark time, put on hold, remain, sit tight, stall, stand by, stay, stay up for, stick around, sweat it, tarry.

Step 2
Anticipate, bide, lie in wait, expect, pause, remain, rest, sojourn, stay, stick around, linger.

Step 3
Ambuscade, assail, assault, box in, bushwhack, decoy, dry gulch, ensnare, entrap, hem in, hide, jump, lay for, lurk, set trap, surprise, surround, trap, wait, hook, net.

Step one complete.

Anticipation

"There is no better moment than this moment, when we are anticipating the actual moment itself. All the moments that lead up the the actual moment are truly the best moments. Those are the moments that are filled with good times. Those are the moments in which you are able to think that it is going to be perfect when the moment actually happens. But the moment is reality, and reality always kinda sucks." -Lewis black

-Alex who knows that hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, or so he has been told.

Bass, Arizona Style!

Willow Spring Lake, White Mountains, AZ
October 2010

Fished a Wooly Worm next to standing timber. The takes were on the drop.

Casey
Tucson, AZ

HAWG

So far this fishing season has been good to me!

P P P POW!!!!

Alex Aaron and I went to Patagonia.
Pre-spawn bass can be fun. Toss a fly in their area and piss them off, results are as follow!
Alex and I were at Sportsmans getting ready for the trip, Alex found a crappie jig in the discount bin. It was a green head with a bright magenta marabou body. Alex said "Buy this and throw it all day you will catch the fish."
I said, "I don't want it, its too damn big and too bright for these fish."
Alex kept bugging me to buy the damn thing, and now I am glad he did.
I dropped it and watched the bass circle it for a bit, then he sucked it up!
I tossed it to another bass right after and BAM!!!! Another one.... almost.... It broke me off.

So throwing for fish that just are not interested in anything, I remembered that I pissed off 2 bass and landed the smaller one on some super ugly bright colors. I put a fly on that Aaron tied for me a few years back, Yes it was ugly and bright, I pulled that guy out with it. I am satisfied!
Now for my stupid photo with my big bass of the day!

False hope

It is that time of year again - decking the halls and "the lights aren't twinkling, Clark," but the thermometer has read over the 80-degree-mark for nearly a week and my mind has warmed to the idea that maybe there is something going on down south.

Apparently the normality will come back from vacation tomorrow and my timing is impeccable as always. It's not that it is a bad idea, like that guy who parked his new Lexus over the line next to my truck, obviously oblivious to the constellation of door dings and paint chips and way too close to allow a man of my fortitude easy access to the drivers seat without a scene. That was a bad idea.

They are just a little lethargic, that's all, ain't gonna move very far for it. Gotta hit 'em in the nose, wake 'em cold bastards up a little. And don't forget the cognac.

when in rome on a bass boat

When a fly fisherman is standing on a really nice bass boat besides a damn good bass fisherman who is catching fish after fish, there is potential for that fly fisherman to feel a little silly as he tries to explains that the cold is the reason his sinking line is so tangled. It is a chilly morning and the fly fisherman is glad he stuffed a pair of socks into his cargo pocket before heading out.

A bass fisherman doesn't understand when people who aren't catching fish say they are just happy to "be out," and the fly fisherman doesn't either. When you get picked up at 3am and are standing on the dock before the sun's even scratched his balls and had his morning coffee, you better catch a damn fish.

The bass fisherman nods toward the popper on the fly rod. "I can't believe something didn't eat that bug," he says as he slams the steel home into the lip of some weed-hidden fish, swinging it into the boat and tossing it back in the blink of an eye.

"That minnow looks great, I am surprised nothing has hit that thing," the bass fisherman says to the fly guy as his spinner bait entices another bite and the braided line takes little time to convince the fish that he might as well give up.

"Toss that thing right in there, see? Right where the tules meet the bank, there is always a fish in there." The bass fisherman says, and the fly fisherman does and sets the hook as the weed guard is pushed to the side and the hook passes through the soft flesh of a bass's lip. "Alright! See? That was worth getting up at 3am, right?" But you have to go to sleep to technically have 'gotten up', the fly fisherman thinks.

The cool morning air passes through the their hair as the 225-horse Mercury shoots the Black Hornet across the lake at speeds to make anyone used to rowing a pontoon quiver with shake his head in astonishment. There ain't no trollin' a bugger when you can get to spot "B" from spot "A" at 56 miles per hour.

"The number one rule when fishing in a high performance bass boat is to make sure the trolling motor is up before you take off," the bass fisherman says. "That, and to make sure there is nothing sitting out on the deck that will blow away." The fly fisherman thinks for a moment then looks around realizing that his Stripee is no longer sitting on the back deck when he left it.

The Black Hornet pushes on.

The fly fisherman sits on the back deck looking at the little mono loops tightly wrapped and glued around the end of the fly line, the other 6 feet of leader slowly sinking to the base of the submerged tree that defied the weed guard on his diamond hair minnow. It has been nearly four hours and the fly fisherman thinks about the numbers. He may or may not have another bass leader pre-tied. He may or may not have a minnow that looks as good as the one he lost. He may or may not have asked the bass fisherman if he could throw that spinner bait for a while. He may or may not have stuck a bass on that spinner bait. He may or may not feel one way or another about it.

Ninja fishing, without the fear of getting caught

Our buddy Jeff Witkowski (Happy birthday) and I went out for a little fly fishing in a area where old Divorced looking women like to harass us, But this time she couldn't, we were fishing without the trespassing!

Jeff likes Fly fishing, Jeff tried fly fishing, and Jeff succeeded!
On a few flies I tied today, Jeff manages to pull his first bass on a fly rod, Oh and it was hit first cast of the day, a nice 2.5lb bucket. Didn't manage to get a photo of it, he was more interested in the release and fight of another.


My main goal today was to catch the 30 or 40 lb. carp I saw the last time Jeff and I went fishing here. I carefully snuck up to overhanging mesquite trees that I know I have spooked carp out from before. First tree, nothing, not even a mud swirl. I take a close gander from the distance of another three who's leaves are slowly dropping in the lake from the slight gusts of wind. Trying to avoid the scattered mesquite pods that litter the ground, like a fat ninja, I almost step on a dried old bass head. That would have made a big crunch, barely avoiding it I see a swirl near a couple pods in the water. Finally a carp! Thinking that its not as big as my goal, I take my cottonwood seed fly and cast to it anyway. A quick false cast across my body I land the fly about a foot and a half in front of the swirl. I thought to myself "Perfect!" A fish hits it right away I set the hook and I loosen the drag on my Airflo reel preparing for a big fight. Damn its a tiny bass. Don't eat my carp fly little guy

The day goes on for me trying to spot carp, I see none, at all. So I decide to pack up the carp gear and hit up the bass a bit more. So fishing for Jeff's birthday and us hitting quite a few small bass, I think it was a great day!

light the fuse and toss that bitch in!

Like a Elk in rut, the bass fly fisherman eyes go bloodshot as he pisses all over himself at the thought of the LMB quarter-stick-of-dynamite-in-the-school-toilet explosion. It's enough to give even the part-time fisherman a semi, and it is all the more sweet victory when the water level is too low to launch your bass tracker, you suckers.

I like foam.

This frog has a very dirty name. In Latin I believe it roughly translates to the 'puniceus sperma inflatio'.

Gatta throw some deer hair bugs, too.

Trimming the deer hair with a razor and not accidentally cutting the wings off is ideal.

The last tie Mr. Leed and I were out, I ninja'd a big bastard dragon fly out of the air with my 10wt (actually it was Leeds rod, but you probably don't care) for a closer inspection. The bass seem to have a hard-on for these things on occasion, so I figured I should tie a couple. I have yet to find the perfect wing material, so I guess Swiss straw will have to do for now.

For the abdomen I took to thin strips of 2mm foam and glued them together with a piece of 40lb mono between them, leaving enough sticking out to tie on the hook. Then I made the segments by wrapping with white thread. I colored it with a sharpie, and then coated it in 5-min nail glue. It was a little work, but you can bet that bitch ain't coming off or breaking apart if Mr. Bass decides to partake.

-Alex covered in urine with bloodshot eyes who has a test-and-tune scheduled for Monday.

Death by Gluttony

Lake Baccarac, Mexico

1) Big bastard bass eats tilapia.
2) Big bastard bass chokes on tilapia and floats to surface.
3) Tilapia splashes around alerting Mike and friends.
4) Mike and friends release tilapia and eat bass.

The end.

research...

The real reason we have a fish tank...

-Alex who is currently testing a super secret series of bass annihilation.

Pond X.2

Bass, Carp, and Gills.


Another ninja fishing adventure, Aaron and i today decided to check out a pond I have been to 2 times before. First time I went alone without trying to fish, i just wanted to see what the pond was like and see all the signs posted everywhere. Apparently as in Aaron's words, if we get caught, "We the violators will be Prostituted"....... thats right not "Prosecuted"!

Thinking right now Aaron may not know how to read, or on second thought he must just have a good ol' hooker on his mind..... like normal.



Now me being armed with my sage launch that I have not caught a fish on yet, My new goofy ass terminator reel, ok its a Airflow Balance 7-9 reel, and this things looks funnier than shit I flipped a shad colored zonker into the base of the reeds and pulled this little beauty out. The carp where everywhere but nothing wanted to take our delicious zonkers. Aaron however managed to pull about 10 gills out in the hour, hour and a half of our fishing. Sometimes where the fishing is good, and you dont want to leave, you have to quit while you are ahead. Though I must say getting Arrested for fishing would not be all that bad. Not like I stole a car or some shit.





Aaron and Kyle- We think trespassing is cool

cattle tank

The deer ran, looking back towards the intruders wandering down the dirt road toward the small piddle of standing water that could not be found in any fishing book, on any blog, or even the Arizona Game and Fish website.

In the mid-summer fishing doldrums when the sun slaps you around and the bass down south refuse to look at anything popping around on the top sometimes you just have to take desperate measures and try not to step in cow shit or twist your ankle on the rough, dry used-to-be muddy banks of the place apparently known as Fagan Tank. I don't know how to feel about it. Probably a good place to dump a body, though.

lunker.

Quote of the week: Blind Luck

Darrell Pendergrass describes fly fishing for trout at night in his article "Fishing blindly for trout with the eternal optimist" via the Superior Telegram:

"Simply put, almost blindly a cast is made, a fly drifts casually for a bit, and then the soft sound of a trout coming to the surface is heard. You need only to lift your rod and line from the water to know that you’ve succeeded in hooking a fish. It’s calm. It’s quiet. It’s perfect. And I believe the term ‘blind luck’ was actually coined by Scottish fly fisherman back in the nineteenth century."

Bass Fisherman?

Does this officially make me a Bass fisherman?

Fly Fishing for Bass from Carlos Rubio, Segovia, Spain

Carlos Rubio,
Segovia (SPAIN)
http://pescarlitos.blogspot.com/

More Fly Fishing from Carlos Rubio, Segovia, Spain

Carlos Rubio,
Segovia (SPAIN)
http://pescarlitos.blogspot.com/

Top-Water Bass - This post goes to eleven.

In the last week of August, one can get the first sense of summer’s oppressive heat losing its sweaty grip on the desert. Sure, it is still ball-sizzling hot but a little breeze here or a cooler-than-normal evening is enough to give hope. Two hours south and a few feet higher you can step out of the truck into a noisy afternoon sun at Arivaca Lake and feel the change. The lake is low, the weeds are slimy and the bass are agitated.

Violence of Action

You remember that angry little short-haired blond kid from middle school that always punched everyone? His step-dad was an auto mechanic or a construction worker, and his mom smoked like a pack a day and watched Court TV? In my opinion, largemouth bass with their constant scowl and tough skin are like that kid. Just plain mad at the world.

“I don’t give a damn that it’s bigger than my head,” he says to himself. “I am totally going to eat the crap out of whatever the hell that thing is 'cause it's pissin' me off!”

Sometimes you feel like using your hemos to tie tiny midges to 8X tippet, and then sometimes you just want to tie half a deer carcass to a 20lb leader and make Neanderthal noises while you swing your 8wt around like some sex-nuts-retard-strong barbarian.

This kind of behavior also helps keep those damn I'm-not-here-to-fish-I-just-want-to-row-my-canoe-through-your-cast people out of your way.

Dog Will Hunt

The other day before a trip to Arivaca, I met with my friend Mike Leed Jr., and he gave me a tube fly frog to try out. After throwing it for a few minutes, I nicknamed it “the shoe”, (that Aaron hand-modeled for us in the image here) cause that’s what it felt like on the end of my 320 grain Sage Bass line. A big wet shoe. But with that 1/0 Gamakatsu Octopus hook shoved up its rear point-up it walked across the weeds with authority. I threw that damn thing all day, and all I got was a sore shoulder. I blame something else.

There are those that tie flies, and then there are those who tie flies, and my friend Mr. Leed Jr. falls into the latter category. He is a fishing madman, and he can tie the crap out of just about anything you might need, or he will instruct you in tying it yourself if you are so inclined. Recently at the local shop, he had a class on tying the grass frogs he loves to dearly. I attended and took part in the hour-long process of creating such a masterpiece. (Mike says it takes him 30min when not showing all us tards how its done)

Under his expert tutelage, I tied the below sum-bitch. He looked at it and nodded, “That dog will hunt.”

It is so on.

The Goods.

-Alex who knows that you can't just make ten louder.

This is my serious face.

The woosh was followed by a sloppy slap as the frog disappeared into the green cottage-cheese lumps. Lead wrap, 3-dollars-worth of deer hair with a side of rabbit: It was like throwing a wet shoe.

From “nine-o-clock” to “three-o-clock” across the top of the bubbly goo, unevenly-spaced trails converged and I was the center point. Bass are down there; I know they are down there. I have seen them eating, swimming around; a weed wiggling here and a splash there. Not nearly as active as last week, but this week I brought a bazooka to a knife fight, and I left the “messing around” at home.

I take up some slack and give a little tug. The wind apparently has something very important to show me on the other side of the lake, but I stick my fins deeper into the mud and tighten the chin strap on my hat.

There is a little disturbance out in front as the frog shows itself and crawls to the top of the muck. I give a second little tug and it hops back toward me. There is a little shiny puddle of open water showing and a little voice tells me that is where he wants to go. Tug, wait. Tug, wait. Tug, wait, as the frog drags another spoke of the wheel in which I am the hub.

Almost there, right on the edge and clean he sits ready to take a little dip. One more tug and he plops into the openness: Exposed and alone, his hind legs flair out as his little rubber front legs dangle limply, at the mercy of the wind under a painfully blue sky.

My eyes are stare daggers at the water as my fingers tense and settle around the rod waiting for the action. There is wind but I can’t feel it. I think there is something crawling on my face but I don’t care. Time slows and the frog sits and I wait for the explosion. I am sure it will come. It has to come because there must be a fish there; hungry and mad and stupid and powerful. I sit and wait.

But there is no fish. Not this time, and I “tug, wait” the frog back to my feet and repeat. This is the sine-wave-excitement of walking frogs across September weed beds.

-Alex who feels upon reflection that fishing and not catching fish is suspiciously similar to messing around, no matter how serious you act.

705 miles, 4 hours of fishing, 4 hooked species

With the Wrinkleneck trip looming just over the booze-laden horizon, my buddy Roger and I took a 24hr trip up to the White Mountains to do a little pre-neck recon mission. I basically knew where we were going. And I learned a valuable lesson: If you ever plan to drive to somewhere which involves navigating 30 miles of mountain fire roads at night, it would be nice to have a more than a basic idea where you have to go. At 2am we were very near the point of no return, and heading the warning of the gas gauge we decided to make camp. Carl's Jr burger wrappers, semi-used TP, and a granola bar box (the manly peanut butter kind, none of that sandal wearing hippy crap) quickly brought the Ents to their crackling knees, bringing warmth and happiness to all.

Wind is a dirty bitch, and spent the next day punching us in the testicles, and after finally getting to the lake we had driven all this way to scope out, mother nature giggled and turned the dial from ‘sub-light speed’ to ‘ludicrous speed’ and we decided that being drop-kicked to the opposite shore and having to carry our tubes back was not what a couple of sleep-deprived clowns thought of as a fun idea, we decided to GTFO and find something more promising.

Driving, turning, driving, stopping, looking, picking dust boogers (carefully on bumpy dirt roads); we pushed on. Then a sign: 10 miles to Black River east fork. Shit, why not? After receiving a tip from a nutball turkey hunter named Rom, we ended up at the west fork.

I knew that the Black River at lower altitudes is great smallmouth water, but at close to 8,600 feet, I was unsure about the population of this portion, so in my not-even-close-to infinite wisdom, I shrugged and tied on a stonefly and a hare's ear and waded in.

5 steps later I surprised a fish that made some chocolate milk and left. A sucker? Hmmm.....

(5 minutes later) Well would you look at that! I guess sometimes a guy just gets lucky. Over the next couple hours I also netted a brown, a rainbow and answered my earlier uncertainty by hooking a nice smallmouth that was apparently not impressed by my angling ability or by the size of my tippet and quickly broke off all my crap and took it with him. Well, at least now I know, and I think hooking 4 species of fish in a 100 yard stretch of river is the kick-ass.

We ran into a few other locals on way home, who seemed a little weary about our presence and didn't want to share any fishing tips. Buncha jerks.

-Alex