This is a bit longer than I'd thought it would be, but here goes…
California. Huntington Beach. December 28, 1968.
That's where and when I was born and where I lived until about half way through the 4th grade. It was during this period that I was introduced to fishing. It was not something we did often though. I can recall maybe three or four trips - my Dad had a friend with a boat with whom we went out on the ocean, I think twice, and I can recall one trip to the Sierras.
One other early fishing memory: I was the youngest of three kids. My older brother (10 years older) was in trouble a lot and my parents decided to have him spend his 14th summer in Georgia. My Dad had a cousin there who I believe was a pig farmer. At least I remember pigs on his farm and lots of mud. We had driven across country to drop him off. While we were there we went fishing in the swamps. Way cool and that is one of the very few things I recall of the trip. We bought cane rods and bobbers and crickets, then went out in a boat. I don't remember whether or not we caught anything. I was four. We had frog legs for dinner one night. I was taught to shoot that trip too. I barely remember the drive, though I do remember my Dad saying there were bigfoot signs everywhere.
The cane rods disappeared years ago.
Looking back, I think the trip that had the most lasting effect on me, fishing wise, was the trip to the Sierras. Funny thing, I did not even know it was in the Sierras until last year. We went to Silver Lake (I had though it Silverlake in the LA area). I've not been back, but I think it's near June Lake. I do seem to recall my Dad fishing a small creek we were camped along, but it is the creek itself which worked some magic in me. I can still picture the damselflies flittering around the waters edges. And the sound the water made.
My family moved to Lompoc, CA in the winter of 1978. My Dad had taken a job on Vandenberg AFB with Martin Marietta. During the first few years there we went fishing a few times, usually at a local lake on the base. I discovered that I could go catch snakes and lizards in the hills around our home. Fishing still had not taken with me, although I enjoyed it when we went.
After high school life took me in a direction and on a path that I would never have imagined myself walking.
Water has always played a big part in my life. I had after all grown up around the beach, had a Dad who was a Huntington Beach lifeguard out of high school and have always loved being in and around water. What I never suspected was that I would one day visit the Sierras and find a connection to the outdoors that has held me for 20+ years so far. No sign it's gonna let up. The place was Dinkey Creek. The occasion was an 11 day camping trip with a couple buddies from high school in the summer of 1987. Something about the scenery, the smells, the entire experience dug into me and has been a part of my life since. It's where I've gone when I needed to recharge, to relax, to let everything that bothers me about living in and around all the crap people create fade away. For some reason, when driving into those mountains, a smile reaches my face, a peace finds me. It happens somewhere around 4000 feet in elevation. Just about where the pines and cedars take over from the oaks and manzanita. A line exists above which lies heaven. My own sense of heaven anyway. Sure, there are usually plenty of others who seek these places out, but it is still so far removed from life in a city anywhere that they really don't matter too much. Besides, that is just the entry to the places I seek.
I would never have thought there was a part of that experience I was missing.
In 1990 I applied to CalPoly SLO, but after two attempts at getting into their very impacted graphics program and failing, I was accepted at CSU Fresno. Aside from acceptance, it had two other things going for it. The friend who had first taken me to the Sierras was going to go there and it was at the foothills of the Sierras with Dinkey Creek just an hour away.
Fast forward a few years and I was introduced to 4-wheeling in those mountains. From about 1993 to 2004, my friends and I started camping farther from campgrounds and people. Not hiking or backpacking, but backwoods sites, often places a 4WD was needed for us to get to. I saw some of the most beautiful places during those years. Lakes that had fish rising everywhere, creeks twisting all through those mountain canyons, cliffs which lit up with the sunset in hues of pink, orange and greens. My favorite campsites were always those that were creekside. Being sent to sleep to the sound of a creek tumbling by was was one of the most soothing, incredible experiences. It seemed to wake something in me while putting me to sleep each night.
Sometime around 2000 or 2001 I was re-introduced to fishing. Sure, I had gone along with friends and watched as they pulled pretty little trouts from mountain streams and creeks. I was enjoying the places though, not fishing myself. It still formed an opinion as to what and where fishing for me was linked. Small mountain creeks, small trout. Rainbows, browns and brookies. Naturally when I did start fishing, that was what I wanted to do. Fly fishing however was something I could not seem to afford. It had been in my mind for years. Before the movie. I think it goes back to MASH. Watching Henry Blake tie flies at his desk, maybe some fishing show or magazine as well. I am not really sure, but it was there and it did not come from anyone I knew.
After a just a year or two, fishing those small creeks, I had my first encounter with a flyfisherman. Things started simmering in the back of my mind that day. It seems inevitable looking back. About a year and a half ago a friend suggested we take a free fly fishing class here in Fresno. I signed up some weeks later but my friend had to back out due to some personal issues. Not me, * that. It had finally happened. My chance had arrived and I was not about to let it get away. I took that class, left there to get my taxes done, found out a refund was coming and went home and did what many a newb has done. I started shopping for a rod online.
My first time fly fishing followed soon enough. Memorial Day weekend camping trip, the creek which ran about 15 feet from my tent's front door. I caught my first fish in the first pool I fished. A 5 inch brookie. Within a few days I stopped using the spinning gear and within a couple of months I stopped taking it with. I've never looked back. I've caught more fish in the last year and a half than in all the time prior though.
Now? I've got seven rods, no idea how many reels/lines. I tie flies. I build rods. I've said it before and will again…I think I am the one that is hooked each time. As for the fish, well they don't play catch and release. I like it that way.
instead of fishing. I recall having some very fun times on that breakwall.
within a short time I spent my money on fly fishing equipment. The guy at Sport Chalet said I should get a 5wt 
