Paul Robertson and Joe Nicklo

Joe Nicklo and I took what has become our annual trip to the Guadalupe River.

Our trip started early on Wednesday when we left my home at 6:00 am. That put us at the river about 9:00. We had rain on the drive there and knew we would likely be fishing in the rain, at least for the morning. Of course, we made our normal stop at Buc-ee’s for breakfast. Upon arriving at the river we “geared up.” Before the trip I had been in contact with Bob Crocker. Bob had reached out to me several weeks earlier and was looking for someone to fish with. I had met him once with Martin Weir (who has since passed) on Damon Seven Lakes, but I couldn’t recall just what he looked like. He had gone over on Tuesday and we had planned to touch base on Wednesday during the day and then get together for dinner that evening. After Joe and I got our waders and boots on and geared up, I was about to text Bob to let him know where we were when I saw a man drive up in a truck and park next to us. When he opened the door, I thought it might be Bob, but I was not sure. But I said, “Are you Bob?” He said he was and we introduced ourselves more formally with the customary handshakes. The three of us fished in the rain for a couple of hours with no success. I remembered the words of John Gierach, “Remember that when a non-angler sees one of us casting in the rain, his likely thought is, Now there’s a guy with nothing better to do.” (All Fishermen Are Liars, 97) When I was taking a break, I noticed a couple of guys catching fish and upon speaking with them I learned they were using a dark brown Ray Charles fly, named such because supposedly it is “a fly that even a blind man can catch fish on.” But it didn’t work for me! I’m not sure just what than means… Joe was wearing a pair of waders he had repaired, but he discovered they were still leaking. Even so, he kept them on for the rest of the day.

After lunch Joe and I decided to try another spot. Upon arriving a the river side, we split up. I was carefully wading across the river just above a wier. About three-fourths of the way across the river, there is a run below the wier that looked promising. Preparing to cast, I lowered my hiking staff to my side and let go of it as I normally do, since it is supposed to be connected to a net retractor. But this time when I let it go, I noticed it took off floating down river. I had forgotten to connect it to the retractor. Dumb! I stood there stunned and trying to figure out what to do. As I watched it, I was surprised it was floating, as it is a metal hiking staff. But it does have a foam grip below the handle. I crossed over the wier and began to plot where I might intercept it. I noted that at the end of the fast water there was an eddy where the water slowed and even began flowing upstream. Fortunately, my staff got caught in that eddy and slowly floated back toward me. I patiently watched until I was able to just reach the staff with the end of my fly rod and gently pull it close enough to grab it. Great! Because, at this point in my life I do not wade rivers without a staff to help with footing and balance. Too old for that!

That area had been fished quite a bit that day, so we were told by some others who passed by us. But, I was able to get three in the net and Joe got one. On the way out, the sole of one of Joe’s wading boots came off. And when we got to the truck he realized the sole of the other boot was about to come off, so he just pulled it off.

Thursday morning, we decided to try another spot. It was overcast, but looked promising. As we a were rigging up, Joe tried to tighten his staff, as the sections had slipped the day before. In doing so, it broke. I had a spare staff in my fishing box, and we got it out and rigged it up for him to use. After a time of searching and trying different patterns, Joe started catching fish on soft hackles. There was another fly fisherman who was also catching fish, on a Black Zonker. I ended up putting on a black Guadalupano with a soft hackle behind it. As best I recall, Joe

netted about nine fish and lost that many more. The guy across the river caught what looked like about a dozen. I ended up catching three. I felt like the guy David Coggins described: “Fishing with somebody brings you closer together because that person has a front-row seat for your failures. And those failures, if you’re learning, will be frequent….I made a fool of myself in front of men countless times.” (The Optimist, p. 32) At the same time, as I was watching them catch one fish after another I was happy for them. I like the words for Steve Ramirez: “I watched and cheered for him [them]—and the fish. It’s not a competition. It’s all about connections among people, places, and other living beings.”

When I caught my first one, I reached behind me for my net, and realized I had left it at the truck, so had to catch and release them by hand. One of them had a gash in its back that was probably 1½ inches wide and quite deep. I was surprised the fish was still alive. I started to take a photo, but quite honestly, it was a little too gross. It served as a reminder that the trout in this river are food for the Osprey and Herons and various other predators. As they grew up on a hatchery, it takes them awhile to learn the skills of hiding from predators.

Joe had brought a new pair of waders with him and used them Thursday. Unfortunately, they leaked as well—right at the bottom the zipper in front! So, he experienced another wet day.

After lunch we tried another spot. I got lucky and found a hole where the fish were stacked up. I must have hooked approximately a dozen. I think I got five of them in the net. There were two men cutting wood at a cabin near me and one commented, “You must be catching the same fish over and over.” One of the fish took a memorable couple of flying leaps out of the water. I wondered it he thought he was a bird. But the strategy worked, as he threw out my fly on his second attempt to fly. Further down river, I hooked another eight fish or so and landed four of them. I also got a small Guadalupe Bass. I think Joe ended up getting three or four.

As Joe and I both had Friday evening social events, we had decided to head home about 11:00 am. We went back to the spot where we had been successful the day before. It was a dreary morning with mist and fog. The water temperature was 60 degrees. We fished for a few hours. Joe caught one fish and I didn’t catch any. I guess we had worn them out the day before and they were just too tired to play that day.

As we were driving home, I commented to Joe that on this trip he had two pairs of leaking waders, had lost the soles on his wading boots, and had broken his wading staff. The good news was that he had not broken a rod!

Another three good days on river….one fair day of catching, one good day, and one not too good. But all in all, a great time for refreshing of the soul.

“Sure, I can have enough of fishing on a tough day or in circumstances that are particularly uncomfortable, but I will never tire of what fishing gives me. It puts me in touch with another of nature’s species, in beautiful places that are as old as time. That is where I want to be; that is how I am renewed.

–Joan Wulff