Tag: Tom Teasdale

Steering fly fishing in the wrong direction

teasdale-sticks-blue-riverI knew that all my hard work trying to get the Primal Fly crew to spend more time trout fishing would pay off. While firmly ensconced hoodlum Tom Teasdale only caught one trout last week, he did get to spend a lot of time rowing. And he’s back on the Blue today. No doubt sold.

Personally, I’m pretty glad that this weekend’s Teva Mountain Games fly fishing competition doesn’t include a rowing component – although I’d probably stand an even better chance of embarrassing myself, it’s very difficult to keep tequila in shot glasses while the boat bobs downstream oar-less. While I’ve never actually been responsible for a damaged boat, I have broken a few oars – I can live with that, but who can live with spilled tequila?

SIDE NOTE FOR THE GAMES: As of this morning the Eagle River was running 2,330 cfs and the Colorado below Kremmling (the suspected alternate to the Eagle for the Games) was at 3,370 cfs. Some might call those flows less than optimal conditions for competition, with some being anyone besides a world class kayaker. The Blue River below Green Mountain, at 952 cfs, is a little more reasonable for fly fishing, but even that is subject to sudden change. The tailwater was at 750 cfs just last night. Stay tuned.

The Wall Street Journal does carp on the fly (UPDATED)

wsj-brownliningThe Wall Street Journal just had to see what brownlining was all about, so they sent crack reporter Justin Scheck to investigate:

Brownliners enjoy fly-fishing’s primary perks — the suspense of watching a fly disappear beneath the water’s surface, the struggle of man against beast, the spinning of fish stories. If that doesn’t come with fresh water and clean air, so be it.

The pursuit is an affront to fly-fishing’s traditional ethos. Since English nobles began using bamboo rods and whiplike lines to cast weightless flies to trout, the sport has been associated with pristine wilderness. “More than half the intense enjoyment of fly-fishing is derived from the beautiful surroundings,” angling legend Charles Orvis wrote more than a century ago.

Read the whole thing. And don’t forget to watch the video, where my compadre Tom Teasdale catches a honker catfish on a Kenyan Stone. You heard me right – a catfish, on a stonefly. Take that, purists!

Justin and the Carp

But, there’s one thing you won’t learn from that Wall Street Journal masterpiece: business journalists can fly fish! During a shoot break I handed Justin my rig, and he immediately found his groove with the stout eight. Ten minutes later it was fish on. We were not going to let this one get away, and a mad scramble ensued to get this roughly thirteen pound baby into the net. I’d like to take credit for something other than the lousy photo, but Tom and Fat Guy Kyle performed the roundup and lassoing. Additionally, I think the whole bit is a tribute to the quality of the WSJ editorial and staffing honchos – they know a good man when they see ’em. It’s always a good day when everyone in the crew hooks up.

Also undisclosed until this very moment: in order to get the WSJ to pay our ugly water a visit in the first place, I covertly GUARANTEED they’d get some good footage and a storyline. I [tacitly] omitted that fact when roping Mr. Teasdale into the deal, but that’s what fishing friends are for – stretching the truth regarding a day on the water. It was risk-taking at its finest, and the unhedged bet paid out. Further, with my future photojournalist’s career clouded in significant doubt – nobody including the WSJ is ringing for my pics – I’m now stewing on the idea of launching a fly fishing derivatives market-making desk. We’ll write all kinds of risk for brown water and blue, a variety of species, and expire contracts along with the fishing season. I’m going to start recruiting ex-credit default swap traders any day, so boys and girls of AIG…get your resumes ready! I’ll also be hedging the trading desk concept with another business model – picking rigs and flies for real journalists (for a stiff fee, of course) until the ball is rolling.

[singlepic id=95 w=150 h=112.5 float=left] Editor’s note: Special thanks go out to my neighbor Corey Christensen, who loaned me his brand new duck hunting waders so Mr. Scheck stayed safe from passing diaper bags. Unfortunately, Mr. Christensen is now demanding a slice of future trading desk spreads as compensation, so if you have some worn out leaders you can pass my way I’ll deliver them to him as a hush payment. He’s still wondering why I always outfish him despite his being a pretty lucky guy, but the aged monofilament tapers I’m always handing him are my other brand of insurance policy.

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Brunch with the Fat Guy

Fat Guy Fly Fisher Kyle Deneen gets Mondays off. On this particular weekday start, he was near Denver (I planted a GPS tracker on his ride during this scene), and since the weather was supposed to be pretty nice I remotely re-calibrated the device so he would wind up near some fishing water. Thankfully, the guy is paranoid when venturing into urban environs, and won’t leave the house without being geared up in case heavy combat ensues. It was a sunny fly fishing brunch, fittingly near an avenue called Florida.

Alas, we hooked one pig between us that never felt a grip around its tail. But we did bump into local carp magnet Tom Teasdale, and were glad when he took off. Reason…he schooled us, with three fish in an hour (Kyle played net boy), including one tipping the scales around fifteen pounds. Pretty much while we were standing elbow to elbow too. Ouch.

Teasdale and Carp

Ok, so the guy fishes the brownwater around a hundred days a year. Still, I’ve got a lot to learn about these goldfish.