Category: Fishing

Harbor Fog Picture of the Week

Harbor Fog - A dense fog covers the Avalon Harbor.
Harbor Fog – A dense fog covers the Avalon Harbor.

Do you have a bucket list? If you don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s a list of things you’d like to see or do before you die. The concept existed before Rob Reiner’s 2007 movie The Bucket List (starring Jack Nicholson, Morgan Freeman, Sean Hayes, and Beverly Todd), but maybe the film made this type of to-do list more widespread.

As I wrote at the beginning of this month’s project, we chose to go to Catalina because the island was on Queen Anne’s list. She’s bugged me for years about going. We had a lot of fun, so I’m happy we went. However, more adventures remain on her list, including seeing the Northern Lights (she claims that she’d settle for the Southern Lights, but I’m not sure that’s the truth). Anne is always showing me deals on Iceland tours from Travel Zoo. The hitch is that the best time to see the lights is in the middle of the night in winter. I can’t imagine dragging her from a warm bed into the freezing night.

I’ve never honestly compiled my bucket list. I married a wonderful woman; what more do I need? Besides, if I had such a list, I’d be afraid she’d kill me if I finished it. She’d say, “You’ve had your fun; now it’s time for you to go.” That’s why we’ll never own a chest freezer.

After we returned from Avalon, Anne asked several times if there was something that I wanted to see or do. I’ve been thinking about it since. In my late fifties, I realized that I was never destined to be rich or famous, so dreaming of yachts, private airplanes, or exotic cars was a waste of my time. With that burden gone, I’ve had time to learn about the poor slob I am. Over the last couple of decades, I’ve winnowed my hobbies so that I can concentrate on photography. Since I retired seven years ago, I no longer call myself a designer or computer programmer. Now I’m a photographer, and I’m happy about that.

On the other hand, one goal that has eluded me involves fishing. Since my ex-brother-in-law introduced me to trout fishing, I’ve always dreamed of landing a fish over ten pounds. During our 2016 Alaska trip, I had my best (and last?) chance of accomplishing that goal because Fred and I were going after salmon. My best catch that summer was the nice silver salmon I landed on a fly. It was eight pounds. Close, but not cigar worthy.

I haven’t been on the water since, and I put that lunker idea out of my mind—until we got home from Catalina. When we researched adventures to fill out our week, I came across fishing charters, specifically fishing for tuna. I discarded the idea because this trip was to celebrate our anniversary, and leaving Anne alone in a sailor bar while I was out all day on a stinky fishing boat didn’t seem right. But sailing out into the open waters off Catalina’s west coast intrigued me. I prefer a nice piece of tuna over steak; they come in large packages. So, I started my first bucket list. Next, I have to research the best season and place to hire a boat—like the ones you in this week’s picture.

One morning in Avalon, I woke up and left to take pictures. When I went outside, I found dense fog. I might as well be in London. Since I’m used to the clear desert air, this was both a challenge and a treat. I ran around town, reshooting everything I had done over the past days but in the fog. I wanted to show the weather but still have a subject identifiable. This week’s image, which I call Harbor Fog, is the one that worked best. It was taken on the harbor’s north side looking south. I like how the morning sun tries to burn through the low clouds, how the boats fade in the distance and the faint hint of the pier buildings in the right background. What do you think—did I get it right, or should I stick to the desert? You can see the larger version of Harbor Fog on his Web Page by clicking here. Come back next week to see another side of Avalon.

Till Next Time
jw

Garnet Mountain Picture of the Week

When I was a younger man, I had too many hobbies. Besides photography, I raced cars, fished, listened to music, and gorged on food and wine. Since retiring, we’ve downsized. I’ve given up cars, fishing, and expensive restaurants. We live on a pension now, so photography is my last indulgence—and it’s a good thing that I don’t have to buy film anymore, else I’d have to throw that out the window too.

It took a while to adapt to Arizona living. Sure, half the year is divine, but summers are hell—literally. So, as every good Zonie knows, you head for the hills to escape the heat and humidity of the monsoons. The other option is to close the drapes, lock the doors, and hibernate in front of the telly. As an aspiring angler, I bought a new edition of Bob Hirsch’s Best 100 Arizona Fishing Holes every year. They never changed, but I always read the ink off my copy by the time the Outdoors Show rolled around. I preferred fishing for trout instead of bass, so we’d make our pilgrimages to where the waters were cold: the Mogollon Rim, White Mountains, Lake Powell, or Lee’s Ferry—if the weather was good.

On the trip that Queen Anne and I made to Pierce Ferry for this month’s topic, I kept asking myself, “Why haven’t I been here before? This part of Arizona is beautiful and very photogenic.” I think the simple answer is that there are no trout here, so I didn’t care. Of course, there’s the Black Canyon below Hoover Dam, but it’s 675′ above sea level. That’s lower than Phoenix, and black rocks surround it. Besides, I got skunked on the one trip that we made, so I never went back.

Hualapai Valley, as I said, is Basin-and-Range topography—like Nevada. It’s flanked on the east by the southern end of the Grand Wash Cliffs, while the Cerbat Mountains line the west. The valley floor’s low spot is Red Lake—which is dry most of the year. Orchards surround the lake, but I don’t know how successful they are. Hualapai Valley is also home to a large grove of Joshua Trees, which fills an area about the same size as ours in Yavapai County.

It’s the Grand Wash Cliffs that caught my attention on the map. They’re a long string of mountains—above and below the Colorado River, forming the western edge of the Colorado Plateau. They’re the transition to the Great Basin Desert.

Garnet Mountain - Joshua and sage grow to the foot of snow-covered Garnet Mountain.
Garnet Mountain – Joshua and sage grow to the foot of snow-covered Garnet Mountain.

This week’s featured image, Garnet Mountain, shows Joshua Trees and sage growing to the mountain’s feet. The mountain is over 6,000 ft high and has snow from previous winter storms. The unnamed pointy peak is closer but a thousand feet shorter, so that’s why it’s not snow-capped. Together, they show two of the geological forces that shaped Arizona. Block shapes are generally uplifts caused by plate tectonics, while pointy mountains are usually volcanic. I like what we saw on this visit, so I’m planning a trip to the Colorado River’s north side later this year, but to do that, I’ll need to travel via Utah or Nevada, so I’ll need some slot machine money.

You can see a larger version of Garnet Mountain on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy seeing it. Join us next week as we drive home and stop for more photos.

Until next time — jw

Big Lake

I wasn’t interested in fishing as a teenager. Fast shiny cars and women were the only things on my mind. I liked the times my dad took me to drown worms, but it was never a thing I did with friends. It wasn’t until I moved to Arizona as a lad of twenty-four that a group of guys accepted me to fish with them. After the first time they invited me to come along on a long weekend trip to Big Lake, I was hooked.

Mount Baldy
Mount Baldy is the second highest peak in Arizona. It’s an easily recognizable landmark from anywhere on Big Lake.

In those days, camping was something you did because you were on a fishing trip. It was a necessary evil that you endured so that you could be on the water. To compensate for the suffering, we’d bring fine wine, Jack Daniels, and gourmet food — some big steaks at least — and we’d swear that everything taste better in the dirt. There were no tents or Dutch ovens, we cooked everything on a Colman stove or a cowboy fire and we slept in the back of trucks. We were manly men … although we really were young and stupid.

Rental Boats at Big Lake
The Big Lake store has boats for rent, but we always got there before the store opened for the season.

According to my new friends, the only time to fish Big Lake was just as the lake thawed or as it began to freeze. Fishing the spring thaw meant that there was a chance that you could catch a fish that had wintered-over; a big fish. Since it was before the official season, the store was closed and the lake hadn’t been stocked with fingerlings yet. Who wanted to catch a puny fish? They were sardines! We were after the two or three-pound rainbows, or maybe a nice brown trout. Those were rare.

To get to Big Lake for the thaw, you needed a four-wheel drive truck. The road wasn’t paved in the 70’s, and the snow plows didn’t do the forest roads. So as we drove, we might need to stop and engage the front hubs to get over a snow drift or two. That was enough justification to drive a monster truck the other 360 days a year. One year we were late. The Palo Verde were already in bloom. The roads were clear of snow and we didn’t need to four-wheel. What a disappointment.

The trip I remember the fondest was the time I brought back the biggest fish. It was late afternoon of our second day. The sun was behind Mount Baldy and the light was fading fast. Out of our group of ten, we only had a couple of rainbows on the stringer. They were less than a foot each. It was a pathetic day. Up and down the line, guys began complaining. It was cold, the fishing was lousy, it’s time for a drink by the fire. To increase chances, each of us tried different bait, lures or whatever. I had come to the party with a fly rod. Fly fishing was new to me and I was mostly catching my hat or ear. Someone called out, “Last cast.” We were going to call it a day. With my best effort, I cast a black woolly worm onto the water’s surface. It was too dark to see the fly, so I blindly began stripping in the line.

BAM! My rod bent in half. I thought I snagged a rock at first, but then a fish cleared the surface once and then again. It was a huge fish, even in the dark everyone could tell. It took out line, enough line that I feared it would take it all. It put up a nice fight and I finally netted it. Once on the bank we examined the brightly colored rainbow and put it on the scale. It was over five pounds. I smiled and looked up, only to see everyone fishing as hard as they could. We beat the water to a froth for another hour before giving up and heading back to camp. As I recall, it was a great night around the fire.

Trees Below the Peak
Even if you don’t fish, there’s a lot of beauty to see in the White Mountains.

Anne and I made a pilgrimage to the White Mountains yesterday. We explored the roads and stopping for every photo-op. When we got to Big Lake, these memories flooded my brain, so we sat for a moment on a picnic table. Since those guys were ten to fifteen years my senior, they’re all gone now. I’m grateful they gave me a love of the outdoors and the thrill of catching a fish. Although our camping is more refined now, it’s still fun to act stupid around a campfire.

Till then — jw