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Archive for February, 2012

Searching For My Mojo

Thursday, February 23rd, 2012

There is something special about waking up on an equatorial Pacific island that goes beyond tanned feet and an unlimited supply of pineapples. The sound of waves lapping on the shore of our secluded bay are calming and gentle, and it’s hard to believe that this is all part of the standard work day.

The sun is just starting to light the eastern sky as I leave my casita, and walk down to the kitchen to get myself a cup, actually a pot, of that glorious Panamanian coffee.  Cafe negro is strong like my mate, black like my dog, fresh  like my lady and slightly bitter (again like my lady), and it only tastes right when enjoyed in bare feet, out in the salt-sea air.

I love this time of the day.  As a saltwater guide, I have very little time to be alone, away from the noise of the outboards and the pounding of the boat hull as it stomps over waves.  In the Islas Secas dawn I start my day quietly.  I am sitting on a log that washed up on the beach sipping java, waiting for the sun to turn up the heat while watching the water rise with every minute and playing out the day to come.

Average tides on our islands are eight to 12 feet, so on the big tides the water can come up 2 feet every hour.  It is amazing to watch.  Where does all that water come from, and where does it go, day in, day out, since the beginning of time?

By 7:00 a.m. we’re westbound and down.  The porpoise issues of Day Three are still a bad memory, so we make the decision to try Montuosa again, if for no other reason than to have a bait die of old age as opposed to having it poached by a porpoise the second it hits the water. At this point, I just want to know the baits can actually swim.

It is a beautiful day, and we are rolling 32 knots under the props, and will be there in 45 minutes. The air is warm, expectations are running high and we are all a little bit punchy at the prospect of some fish.

Right on cue, the daily battle over the IPod takes shape.  My mate Juan is one of my favorite people, despite his shitty taste in music.  He’s trying to play some techno/disco babble while Dr Prince twisted up with a little Fleetwood Mac.  I am bigger than Juan a-n-d I’m the captain, which in this case means there better be some rock and roll spewing from the speakers or there will be a new clown in unemployed fishing mate town.

He spins the dial, and we crank into some Aerosmith, and I nudge up the volume over the engine noise.  “Living on the edge” has me fired up, and I leave Juan to his grumbling and climb to the upper station on my hard top, leaving the boys to piss and moan about never getting their way.

We arrive at Montuosa and put a spanking on the bait. I scan the horizon, noticing for the first time that there is no one else here. I love to be the first boat with baits in the water on the high spot.  The water looks great, much bluer today than the last time we fished here.  With both baits in the water, I start drawing figure eight’s over the high spot.

On the second pass, I hear Juan yell from below, and I can tell by he’s voice that the game is on.  “Boss!  I’m bit!,” he yells up to the tower as  I watch him drop into reel free spool as I kick the throttle back to neutral.

I look down over the hard top at Juan. Normally, when a marlin takes, line peels off the spool as the fish grabs the bait and runs. But Juan and I both know that when a marlin hits hard and heads straight for the boat, it can all be over in a heartbeat. We’re watching for the line to go slack, indicating a run straight toward us, and Juan is ready to collect slack if he can.

Then we see her, and she’s p-i-s-s-e-d! She gets full-on air, jumps again, then crashes down in all her marliny black glory.  The bait is visible, sideways in her mouth.  On the third jump she drops the bait.  I can see Juan deflate a little bit, but he knows to leave the bait on the water, for the marlin to pick up again.

I grab a second bait and as we drop it back, Juan gets bit again. The fish has recovered the bait and intends to keep it this time, and she’s running straight away with it, through the gentle water.  1…  2… 3… 4 seconds–I’m counting in my head, and I’m about to tell Juan to hit her when I see him ease the drag up to strike.

I come forward easy on the throttles, as much to help set the hook as to be powered if the fish charges and I need to bail. Black Marlin run and jump toward the pull of the pain way too often, and a captain has to be nimble to clear the escape route. We are tight and line is rolling out as the top shot disappears over the water, and the 100 pound braid is a blur coming off the spool. We are throwing high fives and whooping it up when the electricity in the rod disappears.

I make a couple quick moves to get tight again, but I know it’s hopeless. We put the mouth on it too early and jinxed our way out of a fish. I see the bait flopping on the surface, as a porpoise dials in on it. That second take was no marlin, just another one of our blunt-nosed bait poachers.  The tricky bastard swam in and took the bait before the marlin could get back to it.  I can see where this day is heading and break out a large bottle of aspirin.

We ding a couple of sailfish, sting a dorado or ten and by the end of the day head home 0-for Montuosa. We are trying our best, but the porpoise army is raiding our baits on a regular basis.

My luck has got to change, or I’m going to have to stoke up the juju with some Classic Stones. Because you can start me up, start me up and I’ll never stop.

Stand, Sit or Get Out Of The Way

Thursday, February 16th, 2012

The first three weeks of the 2012 Costa Fly Fishing Film Tour have been a blur of bodies, beer cans rolling down the aisles and people standing with their noses pressed to the glass of the ticket booth like a dog left in the car. The last seven shows have been sellouts, leaving people cursing in the streets and offering up their girlfriend’s sister for an extra ticket. For now, the most plausible strategy for entrance into a sold-out venue has been to offer to stand in the back row during the film and hump the recyclables out to the trash afterwards, but that doesn’t work if the beer pours by the pitcher.

P.S. If you get locked out of a ticket to the show because you didn’t purchase one in advance, don’t send nasty e-mails to the show management. Instead, put your efforts into getting a larger theatre built in your town so that next year you can be a last-minute balcony refugee. And if you know you’re showing up late to a sold-out show with no tickets…bring a chair! Maybe you’ll get a sympathy seat next to the garbage can or down in front where you can stretch your neck back and get up close and personal to the “takes” in Technicolor.

A good example of the audience appeal was seen in Missoula, Montana last week where 1,100 people paid hard American cash money to prove they were nail-knotted to the soul of the sport. True, Missoula is a fishing town, but five years ago the Costa Fly Fishing Film tour played on the college campus and was out-sold by dress your cat and dog in disco attire night at the local roller rink.

There are a lot of theories for their year’s success of the Costa Fly Fishing Film Tour—repeat venues, nothing else to do in a snow storm, playing the odds that someone sitting in your aisle will be smoking high-grade marijuana and the pass down will come your way—but most likely it’s a combination of the show networking with the local fly shops and the lineup of great films. With a solid combination of salt and fresh, documentary, storyline and humor, the films are once again proof positive that fish bums can support their Jones’ by adding the term “film editor,” “producer” or “grip/lackey” to their resumes and get an entire crowd to cheer their efforts.

Keep in mind that this year’s tour is working closely with the local fly shops, so securing a ticket is as easy as sliding in for a look at the wading boots in the sale rack, griping to the employees about chick’s hair fashion sucking up all the good hackles and handing your plastic to the Patagonia mannequin behind the counter. Some of the shops are even offering discounted tickets, so you can justify grabbing a pack of #24 hooks and a bottle of Hard As Hull.

If this is your first year to see the show, don’t be surprised by the rowdy atmosphere or you’ll end up sticking out like a nympher at a tent revival. The tones of films like Doc of the Drakes—where a retired surgeon severe Parkinson’s disease and his guide put their passion into tossing up airballs on Silver Creek, while you revel in the passion and soul of the sport one minute and then want to buy the guide a beer in the next as this emotional rollercoaster takes you from irreverent respect to full-blown Kiss concert.

Then there’s the GeoFish Belize film where one of the Mayan bush guides is in constant stupor while a handful of gringos try to find their way in and out of a salt marsh while not becoming a meal or host to any interstitial parasites. At the same time, they try to catch fish.

From Arctic char big enough to take down a grizzly cub to bonefish the size of bonito, there’s a film in the mix that will poke your medulla oblongata and stifle that nervous twitch you get when a dozen shadows are swimming your way. So check out the schedule, put the date in your calendar and make plans to visit your local fly shop soon, or you can be one of the people in the line with your nose against the ticket booth window pointing at your girlfriend’s sister.

The rest of the February FT3 Tour calendar rolls out like this:

2/17                 Stargazers Theater, Colorado Springs, CO

2/17                 The Emerson, Bozeman, MT

2/22                 The Egyptian Theatre, Boise, ID

2/23                 Sun Valley Opera House, Sun Valley, ID

2/25                 Rio Raft Resort, Canyon Lake, TX

2/25                 Taunton Inn And Conference Center, Taunton, MA

2/25                 The Depot, Salt Lake City, UT

2/28                 Wheeler Opera House, Aspen, CO

2/28                 Fox Theatre, Redwood City, CA

2/29                 Galaxy Theater, Gig Harbor, WA

2/29                 Lincolin Center, Fort Collins, CO

2/29                 24th Street Theater, Sacramento, CA

Into The Trees

Tuesday, February 14th, 2012

By Joe Guthrie

The Florida Wildlife Corridor Expedition is now off and running. The last few months are a blur of activity and frantic preparation, where we had no time to properly prepare ourselves.

We made it to the start by working insane hours, working the phone and email around through all hours of the night. The two and a half weeks between the holidays and the start of the Expedition Carlton and Elam and I all suffered from intense sleep deprivation as we hurried between meetings and our computers, buying gear, talking to our collaborators and organizing our equipment. We shopped for a trailer that could carry our kayaks, bikes, paddleboards, camera equipment. We researched specific properties, specific wildlife species and conservation issues we wanted to highlight.

The dry bags for stowing gear on our kayaks were out of stock. The wireless service provider for our portable wi-fi hotspots wanted a contract that we were not willing to pay. The rudder kits for our kayaks, which we naively thought we’d assemble ourselves, were far too involved and we needed them fixed by a pro. It seemed like one million adapter wires and batteries and connectors flooded the dining room table of Carlton’s house. Details, details, details…it was chaos.

We still had not rigged the kayak solar panels that we wanted to power our devices while we were out in the wilderness for seven days. We still had not loaded reliable satellite imagery into our GPS for our navigation, while important people would be arriving in hours to see us off.

Somehow we pulled it off. Carlton and I were both awake that last night until 5 a.m. Once the sun was us up there was no more chance to fool around with the phone or the computer. We had to load the boats and go.

Packing took until 2:30 in the afternoon–nearly two hours later than we’d intended, but we finally shoved off into the Bay. A flock of willet milled in the shallows just down the beach. The weather forecast was perfect. As I pulled through the first paddle stroke I felt relief begin to work through my system. Now we had to just go do the thing.

Day TWO: The First Full Day

Day Two of the Florida Wildlife Corridor Expedition began at the Joe River Chickee in Everglades National Park, Florida. At least three of us (Carlton, Elam and Joe) awoke from a sleep of over four hours for the first time in weeks. The morning light came up and we saw that we were in a bowl of water about 1/4 mile wide and fish jumping near the base of the red mangrove trees all the way around our bowl. The sky was clear and there was no wind. In all, a pretty nice winter day.

Without much discussion, the morning took on a relaxed pace. We were all a little fried from the mental stresses of the preparation for our Expedition. It felt good to have left those worries behind, if only temporarily. We made breakfast with flatbread and Nutella and cream cheese with bananas. Elam tended the coffee press.

Mallory and Elam paddled out first around 11, while Carlton and I packed more slowly. As we got under way I fished a jig up next to the mangroves and caught a 12″ spotted sea trout. A slight north wind picked up. Carlton fussed with my phone and its poor service. Several times he got far ahead of me during our paddle. I decided that I still needed to work on loading my kayak properly since everyone else was faster than me. It wasn’t until later that Carlton told me that he’d been frustrated with the wind and the poor service and that his speed was due to his “paddling emotionally.”

We caught up with Mallory and Elam at the second Joe River chickee, where we’d planned to eat lunch. They’d been waiting patiently for us for some time. The next leg would involve crossing a broad stretch of Oyster Bay, where we expected to get spray from the northwest across our boats. We were running behind after Carlton and I had spent too long on our first leg. I changed into rain gear, not wanting to arrive in the dark in wet clothes at a place where we could not build fires.

We made good time across the bay and arrived at the Oyster Bay chickee in short order. It was sheltered from the open bay by a narrow island of red mangrove trees. As Elam was unloading his kayak he lost balance and toppled into the water. He was unhurt, and he’d already off loaded all of his camera equipment, so we all had a laugh as we documented the first casualty, including Elam.

Day Five–Entering The Sawgrass

An update from the team: “We are in the sawgrass in the middle of our route through the Everglades. We are on schedule and food is holding up well. At night the insects drive us into our tents, and we end up sleeping for 8 or more hours, a nice departure from the weeks of no sleep we had leading up to the start of the expedition. Poor cell service makes blogging difficult, but the signal seems to be improving, so bear with us. The scenery is unreal. Poling a kayak through the sawgrass is a true Everglades experience.”

Florida’s Wild Interior

Monday, February 6th, 2012

Flamingo, Florida to The Okefenokee Swamp, South Georgia

THE ADVENTURE:

There’s a reason the majority of humans residing in Florida inhabit the coastal segments. In the land of the endless summer where flatness prevails and the entire ecosystem creeps, crawls, squirms or slithers, the coastline and its windswept break from the eternal furnace and bouts of marsh foot offer access to several of the most sensational marine ecosystems on the planet. From surfing to fishing, waterskiing to diving, coastal Florida offers an endless litany of watery recreational opportunities, yet without the advent of air conditioning even these marvels of nature would be no more than a day trip to a theme park.

Some see the interior of the Florida peninsula as a burden, a marsh-laden stretch of mosquitos, alligators, snakes and just enough things that can work their way into your orifices to keep the mainstream and alternative societies at bay. Even when packing a survivalist attitude, the interior environment is not a place the average American calls home.

That’s only because we limit the term “Average American” to the human population. For panthers, bears, wading birds, alligators, crocodiles, kites and a host of primordial flora and fauna, the interior of the state is the last frontier, a final gambit of natural selection that hasn’t been paved, planted, hijacked or drained.

THE PLAYERS:

Carlton Ward Jr:

Carlton is a conservation photographer from Tampa, Florida. His passion for nature was born from the Florida landscape, where eight generations of family history have grounded his perspective. He sees natural environments and cultural legacies as the earth’s greatest yet most threatened resources.

Carlton is a founding fellow of the International League of Conservation Photographers (ILCP) and founded the Legacy Institute for Nature & Culture (LINC), a non‐profit organization with the purpose of celebrating and protecting Florida’s natural and cultural heritage through art. While completing a Master’s degree in Ecology, Carlton wrote Conservation Photography, the first thesis on the emerging field. Carlton’s immediate focus is the Florida Wildlife Corridor project which he established in 2009.

Joe Guthrie:

Joe migrated to Florida while working for the University of Kentucky to document the ecology and conservation of a small population of the Florida black bear in Highlands and  Glades counties. His interest in conservation stems from an outdoor upbringing in rural Kentucky, where he hunted and fished the hollows of his family farm.

Joe collaborated on multiple research projects, focusing on neo‐tropical songbirds, Kentucky elk, before taking on the role of team leader for Florida black bear research. Joe’s master’s thesis focused on the function of corridors and highways crossings for bear movement in the fragmented landscape of south‐central Florida. Researching the wide‐ranging black bear allowed Joe and his UK colleagues to connect with ranchers and stakeholders from many backgrounds, and through their cooperation the bear project continues today. This special population of bears, centered on private land in a part of Florida that is little known to the outside world, provided the inspiration for the Florida Wildlife Corridor Expedition.

Elam S. Stoltzfus:

Elam is a Producer, Director and Cinematographer of film documentaries and educational programs featuring environmental issues, educational/corporate training programs and developing projects utilizing various formats of media such as DVD, web design, social media and other media.

He is known for his educational programming and design consulting. Elam is the manager and owner of Live Oak Production Group, Inc., a High Definition professional broadcast video production company, as well as a freelance film and video producer. For the past twenty‐five years Elam has documented diverse aspects of Florida’s natural resources which include estuaries, rivers, swamps and aquatic preserves.

Mallory Lykes Dimmitt:

Mallory is a multi‐generation Floridian who grew up exploring the lands and waters of Florida. She specializes in landscape scale conservation, natural resource management, ecosystem service markets and water and energy issues.

She is a Director, Vice‐chair of the Corporate Responsibility Committee and a 5th Generation Committee member of the Florida‐based family agri‐business company, Lykes Brothers Inc. She also serves on the board of LINC, the Legacy Institute for Nature & Culture, where she previously filled the role of Interim Executive Director, and got her start in social media.

Mallory earned her B.S. in Natural Resources from the University of the South in Sewanee, Tennessee. She was awarded a Doris Duke Conservation Fellowship at Duke University’s Nicholas School of Environment, where she earned a Masters of Environmental Management (MEM) in Environmental Economics and Policy, as well as a certificate in Non‐profit Management.

THE STORY:

Bike, hike, paddle or push through the Florida Everglades up to the Okefenokee Swamp, a 1,000 mile trek  through some of the nastiest, gnarliest, scariest and most beautiful, pristine terrain in southern North America. The 100-day trip through gator land and turkey sand will have the group goose-stepping around bear scat and panther tracks as they document a segment of Florida rarely seen by the average Miggy minion.

Traverse the Everglades ecosystem into Big Cypress Swamp, over to the Everglades Agricultural Area, back to the Okaloacoochee Slough, across the Caloosahatchee River, over to Babcock Ranch, back along Fisheating Creek toward Lake Okeechobee, up the Kissimmee River with excursions toward the Lake Wales Ridge, up the Kissimmee Chain of Lakes, east around Orlando into Ocala National Forest, and north along the O2O corridor (Ocala to Osceola) to Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge stopping along the way to smell the sugar cane and orange peels burning, view the cowpies smoldering in psilocybin and throw rocks at the metal culverts directing water off the land.

The project kicked off January 17, with little Florida Everglades fanfare. Just a handful of egrets and a school of mullet in attendance, but nonetheless the first stop on an adventurous journey across the peninsula.

The Mamilian Bait Poach

Thursday, February 2nd, 2012

After the success of Day Two it was an easy choice to point the bow towards Hannibal Bank on Day Three. We’ve found the fish and the location that’s going off, if we could just keep the porpoises from glomming our baits we can start to bang away at the number of tags.

As we untie from the dock and I put the boat in gear my ears start to ring. Crap, one of my outboard motor warning alarms is going off. My coffee hasn’t kicked in yet and I’ve got a mechanical issue.

When your home base is an island 25 miles off the coast of Panama, there are engine issues and there are dead in the water engine issues. Twenty-five miles doesn’t sound that far from the nearest outboard mechanic when you can zip down the highway, but in the open ocean, it’s a long way from a warm bed.

I figure out why the alarm is honking like a caffeine-jacked goose—the port engine is stuck in gear. Oh, and did I mention that it’s also in reverse? I now have the ability to put the starboard engine into forward and make big circles. Now I know how a NASCAR driver feels.

The positive side of this is that at Islas Secas we have a 135 foot LCU, our mother ship that supports our fishing program. To minimize the impact on the island where the guests stay, our fishing program is supported 100% by the LCU.

So I hail them on the VHF and tell them I have an issue. They reply, “Like the whole world doesn’t know you have issues.” Even in Panama, 25 miles offshore, there’s a comedian in the group.

I shut down the gagging engine and limp over on the one working outboard. I am freaking out. We’ve found fish and I can’t get to them. After 15 minutes, my engineer Luigi says “No Problama Chief. I fix in 45 minutes.”

Having the support of the LCU means a full time engineer and all the spare parts and tools for every Job. I love working for an organization like this.

It took a little longer than 45 minutes. Obviously island time converts to Italy as well, but we are now on our way.

At the Bank we made bait in seven minutes and were fishing in ten. The porpoises were relentless. They ate every bait we put behind the boat. They have a Master’s Degree in bait theivry and  would come in as wolf packs. We did not stand a chance.

The frustration with these bait poachers was growing, and to make matters worse, we saw a big black marlin tearing up the water as it fed on a school of bait. We dropped right on him and the porpoises ate both baits in less than two minutes.

By 1:00 p.m., we have gone through 20 baits. This sucks and is not working. We start pulling plastic, not a preferred method for targeting black marlin in Panama waters, but they will work at times. Obviously today was not one of those times.

We do catch a few dolphin and make plans for the next day. The porpoise are starting to stress me out.