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Showing posts from 2016

Beyond a Shadow of Trout

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This is the second post in a row that I have decided to title with a terrible fish-related pun. The last one was pretty terrible and likely resulted in a 70% loss of readership, but I have lost all touch with dignity at this point. However, when you're typing this in your seventh period IB Theory of Knowledge class you tend to find yourself doing anything to relieve yourself from the soul-crushing boredom and desolation.  For this trout, death was a welcome relief from the barrage of fish-related puns.   It's late spring, the peak of hatchery trout stocking season in the Pacific Northwest. Although by the time I sat down to write this the vast majority of the lakes have now been fished out, over the course of the last month or so I've done a lot of hatchery trout fishing. I do a lot of fishing for wild trout, and I sometimes feel silly for being so engrossed in catching those born and raised in captivity, but still find myself targeting hatchery fish quite

Pond Fishing Goals

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I think that everyone who regularly fishes has a local pond that they stake claim to as their own, unless they live in an area so incredibly amazing that there is no need for one (here's to you, my friends in the Florida Keys). In most places, these small ponds never really truly theirs, as these urban fishing holes are typically situated in metropolitan or suburban areas. However, when you fish a local haunt regularly and become familiar with the landscape, wildlife, and techniques that consistently produce fish you develop a different relationship with the pond. You begin to become much more involved with the health of the ecosystem, refraining from keeping wild fish and taking the time to clean up litter and dispose that of your own properly. You'll find yourself frequenting the lake just to get a few casts in or try some new techniques, not particularly caring whether you catch anything or not because you know that you'll always be able to come back and tr

Sturgeon General's Warning

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As a general rule, I hate puns. However, I couldn't resist the one above. It's actually quite surprising that I haven't thought of it before now, especially when one considers the number of sturgeon fishing posts and reports that I have done in the last couple years. I actually hadn't targeted these prehistoric Polaris missiles since last November, as I have been extremely busy with other endeavors and sturgeon fishing is tiring and very time consuming. Unless you're one of those guys who target them from shore, a sturgeon fishing trip is one of those things that takes all day and ends with you groaning in pain while lying face down in the mud back at the launch after spending eight hours fighting monstrous fish from a kayak. The other members of the band and I coordinated the beanie/flannel ratio to reach the perfect ratio of alternative douchebag and regular douchebag. The next morning I picked up Ethan, the same guy who participated in the yearbook mishap o

The Curse of the Carp and the Dumbest Adventure Ever

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As you readers (all three of you!) may know, it's been a little while since I've been fishing. My last documented trip was way back in December and it featured excellent photography, beautiful weather, and an enjoyable experience with friends. The following post contains none of these things. Instead, it will involve road rage, a bluegrass band, and several pictures of carp. If none of those things fit your picture of something you'd want to have on your browser history, let alone read, I'd strongly recommend leave that you leave this blog, shut off your computer, and perhaps find a nice book. I warned you. Now why exactly have I been so unable to wet a line for the entire month of January and February? This largely has to do with my exhaustively painful schedule revolving around brutal schoolwork, competitive swimming, "winter percussion" (look it up and feel sorry for me), and a series of escalating musical endeavors. Normally at this point I'd p

The Yearbook Fiasco

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When I was first struck with the ill-advised urge to document my fishing trips on the internet, I tried to keep my writings a secret from everyone I knew. The last thing that I wanted everyone to stumble upon was a veritable treasure trove (or garbage heap, depending on who you ask) of embarrassing stories and unflattering photos. Unfortunately, this didn't work out as planned. As I've mentioned several times before, one of my friends "accidentally" slipped up that I had an internet blog about fishing. Things sort of spiraled out of control from there, and soon it seemed like everyone knew about this disastrous attempt at internet fame. Around this time, a couple of my friends from the school yearbook started becoming unusually curious about my fishing exploits. I soon learned that they were interested in documenting one of my fishing trips for the yearbook. I was wary at first, as I've always been reproachful towards the mysterious and secretive cult that calls i