July Open Dates

I’ve got the following July dates open.

14th and 16th

21st 22nd 24th

29th 30th 31st

That’s what I’ve got open. I’m headed tonthr St. Joe for a few days and will have my kids this month so these are probably the only dates I’ve got open.

I also have another Teanaway wading clinic on July 17th with spots open. Morning and evening Half Day Floats Trips are available as well as Full Day and Walk and Wade Trips.

August is around the corner and the hopper fishing is gonna be wicked! Get a date in August for some of the most awesome dry fly fishing in the summer. It’s big dries and flashy streamer fishing time anglers. Let’s go.

Reserve a trip today!

See ya riverside anglers!

Tamarack

In it.

I can’t sit still. Haven’t been able to since I started hiking mountains for work. The guidelines suits me…as mine never stops. Today was one of those days. I have been off river for 3 whole days. Which doesn’t sound like a lot but when you’ve been on everyday for weeks straight it makes a difference. I bummed up my knees so took it easy, I had adult shit too do, and didn’t take care of all of per usual. Off river shit is me sitting still. I’m still all-over the place but I’m stuck in my car, dealing with people outside of clientele, and spending money that I don’t want to be. Adult shit.

Today I guided. One of my best, most frequent, and of course favorite clients. It wasn’t anything other than simple fishing amd great conversation. Lots of little trout, good looking water, my favorite flows this time of season, and no one else on the stretch we ran. Mmmm. Doesn’t matter the fishing that shit is priceless out here. I run Hanson and State more than any other float amd probably more than any other guide. It’s my favorite float no matter the time of year. I know it in my sleep. Every square inch of it. And it’s changed since the high water so it’s even juicier. I know how the fish move throughout the season, I known what they eat and where and why, it’s mother fucking dialed. Today was wicked fun but I wanted more.

So I did it again. Was back on water at 6 and fished till almost 10. Wanted to see if the big trout were up in the evening. They weren’t as much as I wanted. Which means they are full. Because they normally would eat like crazy against the high flows…but the water is almost 5 degrees colder than other seasons. I checked my journals and notes. So…they don’t have to eat as much. And the high summer sun is here and they fucken hate that sunshine on this river. So…if they are full…and they aren’t smacking shit in the shade during the day or tight to bank, and I’m not seeing them…they are cramming nymphs in thier gullets, and they are probably crushing shit in the early morning low light. It’s fucken time to get up early anglers.

I only get up early for 2 things…trout…and things not rated for blog posts. And getting 400 plus bucks to get up at the ass crack of dawn to be on water when big troots are slupring….ya…I’ll do that shit all summer long, then do it again at 3 to 10:30 pm. All damn day! Give me 12 plus hrs on water shit I’ll take 16. There’s enough light. Let’s go. Ever fished upper Alaska in the summer!? Ya let’s go anglers.

I’m on water early tomorrow. We’ll shall see if my mind is right.

See ya riverside anglers.

Tamarack

Summer Time Fishing

The summer is finally here…well kind of. Its finally sunny and warmer at least. The river is in shape and at normal summer flows. It fluctuates with irrigation but predictions charts show normal flows for the future. Snow is melting out of the highlands at a slow pace. And with more rain and cooler than average, or at least cooler than we are used to temps things are more fairly normal. It’s green, still wet, snow in places up high, and the rivers are colder than they have been at this time in a long time.

The big bugs are here. Golden stones and ants. We have summer caddis, there are pmds and Yellow Sally’s, and those pesky drakes are slowly percolating down there. Water temps have broke 50 and are holding below 55 degrees. It’s here anglers. They are eating. They are fat trout this season. Late spawning and lazy eating. With these colder temps and that big flush of water they are just full and fat. With 50 to 55 degree temps they are finally starting to eat more and more. But they are getting full and turning off periodically during the day and depending on what section you are in. It makes floating and working water more strategic for me as a guide. Timing and thr kind of water we are fishing become paramount to finding the kind of success I am after as a guide. It’s my jam. And with the new changes to the river and a different kind of summer in terms of flows, air, and water temps, and hatches experience and reading and working water is key.

Access this summer is a bitch. Not having bristol fucken sucks!!! And the County dragging its feet isn’t helping as we come into the busiest time of the season. Idiots. Outdoor recreation brings more people to and through kittitas county than anything else. Putting more effort into access and responsible management and practices with our public lands and rivers should be at the forefront of anyone who’s got any decision making power here. The Rodeo and other little events do not compare to the amount of people coming here for outdoor recreation constantly, and year round.

But I’ll work the river as best I can. This will be my last full time season here on the Yakima exclusively. I will bounce around more during the trout season next year. Guiding other rivers and states throughout the summer and focusing on the spring and fall here on the Yakima moving forward. Access and that shit is a factor for sure. But also my need for more and different.

Summer time is a wonderful time to fish here. We have lots of options. From hike in lakes, to small mountain streams and rivers, to the big water down on the Yak. Camping floats, half days, full days, multi boat floats, walk and wades are all open for booking. The big water trips get you out of the boat walking the side channels, chucking flies at the bank, swinging and nymphing runs amd boulder gardens, and getting explosive takes, high jumps, fast water runs, and barrel rolling, pucker inducing trout. You’ll see some of the coolest shit fish can do in thr summer. Some jumping 4 plus feet out of thr river! Others hitting the fastest current and peeling line 60 to 100 feet down water, only to turn around and come right back up it almost as fast. You’ll find the biggest and baddest fish eating and slurping early in the day and later into the evening.

Most days a big bug will get it done. But the summer allows for anglers to fish every kind of way you want and find fish. From streamers, to soft hackles, nymphing and big to little dries it’s all on the table. Days with me can be fast paced, filled with lots of hot swapping rigs and rods around. Try this streamer here, hey nymph this run, now chuck this big dry at that overhang. Run this little soft hackle at the tailout of that riffle, but after you’ve working the top end with the parachute mayfly dry. Here tumble this nymph through that bucket, and then work it into the boulders, now try a dry. It’s constant and it can all produce fish. Anglers can learn all sorts of ways and waters to find fish in the summer.

From the big water to the small there’s fish and ways to chase them. And summer time gives anglers lots of opportunities at fish. It’s great for beginners and seasoned anglers will get to see and fish some rad shit.

So lets go fishing. It’s summer time, the flows are wicked good, the weather is wonderful, and the season only lasts so long. July has weekend dates open: 10th, 16-17th, 24th and 30th-31st. With week days open in between. Come out for a trip. We also got bass we can chase in the Basin again now. Warm enough and they should be done spawning now.

Let’s get in anglers. I want to guide! Come on out and let’s chase some trout.

See ya riverside anglers,

Tamarack

Teanaway Night

I can smell the fresh cut alfalfa.  The pines in the air.  Someone else is driving for a change. There is unfamiliar but vibing music drowning out the sounds of the windows being down driving the Teanaway road. 

The guardrail is too close to the road.  More of a hindrance than anything when towing a boat trailer. I lost an oarlock to it once. Little too close.

I’ve been okay.  In good company, guiding, and camping with close friends and others. I’ve met new people, connected with other anglers.  I’ve been stopped in camp and humbled by other anglers coming up to me.  I’ve spent time fishing for myself, and sharing the river with others…off the clock.  I’ve been shown new water. I’ve been back and shared places here in the Teanaway that I love and cherish. I’ve been invited to fish all over from others. And been put in others’ plans to fish and share rivers. It’s still overwhelming. The impact the fly fishing community has is always something I felt was home.  And having others remind me of my impact hits me every time.

I can feel the cool summer air tug at my beard. Filled with scents of peppermint and campfire. My body aches from guiding. My hands are beat up and calloused. Tanned and dry. My body is getting wiry and the aches are from the change. It feels good not to drive. The music changes to a more mellow tune. The sun gone, stars just poking out. That lime green and blue hue just on the horizon, tall trees silhouetted against the dusk. My favorite. Tis when the river finally sleeps, the night critters come out, and campers fall off to sleep. I share a fire most nights, with wonderful company and in good spirits, or deep conversation, or maybe drinking and talking fish and silly things.

The crickets sing, a generator mumbles yonder, here in the Teanaway. The fire cackles and cracks. A Rainer or two is passed around. A good conversation starts up, stars are watched, laughs and a tear here and there are shared. Connections are made over fire, a beer, a bowl, a smoke, and life happening and being here and now for it. Shit doesn’t last forever, and the world off river is kinda fucked. There’s another day of fishing on the morn, and the sun wakes us camplife and angler people up with the rest of the river and forest.

I’ll see ya riverside anglers.

Tamarack

Wade clinic June 25

I’ve got spots still open. $100 per person. Let’s learn the teanaway and fish! It’s a wade clinic so we are gonna teach bugs, wading, playing fish and access points and how to get into the fun water.

Sign up online via the trip inquiry or message me. 10 am pioneer coffee.

Tamarack

Stomping around.

I fished today, 4 different bodies of water. From 7 am to 7 pm. No fish. But it was nice to stomp around where I started fishing. I fished pretty hard for most of the day. Top water, trout flies, streamers, sink tips, double haul casts, punching flies into the toolies. No fish but it was still good to work through casts, row a bunch of water, my body needs the work out, and to get a look at some old ‘secret’ water.

Drove through my hometown, saw my higschool, my old houses, still know where all the roads on royal slope go. Side note, how in the actual fuck is there no tequila at the store in Royal City?  Luckily I found some in George. Because I have every intention of getting ripe with drunkenness.  I’ve already started. So I better get this out before it really hits.

Why?  Because I’m an adult, fishless, and sad, so it seems appropriate. Drinking makes me happy. Even alone. I drink more now, gave it up for a while when I lost weight.  So why the fuck not, it’s wet, windy, kinda cold, and I feel like a hangover will help in all honesty. I can handle hangovers. It’s a guide thing.  I got fancy and made margaritas and of course shots of tequila. Which isn’t my favorite, rum is, but tequila seemed appropriate for being back in the stomping grounds.

Driving the back roads and sliding into lakes and slews along the canals was reminiscent of my early days when I lived here and was going to school at CWU. All the spots are still there, grungy, dirty, and trash filled like always. It’s a different vibe out here. Kinda rednecky and hillbilly but I seem to fit in with that even if I’m more the hippy dirtbag troubum type.

I have kind of fallen back into that dirtbag life. Where you’re just bumming around looking for fish. The term comes from rock climbers and hikers.  The equivalent of ski bum, trout bum, dirtbag, all kind of the same thing. Those of us who forgo the regular life for awesome pow and lines, a good rock face, or a lake or trout stream. Living guide trip to guide trip, a wad of cash stashed for emergencies in a place my stoner brain forgot already. 

I do feel like I’ve taken a few steps back. Like a time warp. I was doing this gig in 2019 when my life fell apart before and after my divorce. Recent events kind of put me back in this space. Life off river falls apart we revert back to what we know. It’s not totally bad, just not what was planned.  I adjust, pivot, move forward. That’s all I can do.

Trips will help. Give purpose to this lifestyle. Otherwise I’m just a fishy hobo. And I’m looking forward to things picking back up work wise. I know the river will drop. Slugging around the lakes today made me appreciate the Yak a little more even if she’s being a spiteful bitch right now. I get company finally! This last week alone has kind of sucked if I’m honest. I do need people and I think I’m ready. At least in a fishing, camping, outside capacity. A few minutes in civilization like the store or gas gets me anxious. And I did notice a few people in my hometown do the double take with me. I can’t go anywhere close. When I head to Montana next month for fishing and then Canada I will be unknown and that has its appeal.

Today I also drove a lot. Fucken gas. Which I do hate, but at 50 mph on back roads to and from water is my groove. I get time to think, cry, laugh, and harness my chi so to speak when I drive. A habit from guiding, the to and from drive of trips is a lot of contemplation time. Today I thought of all the places in Washington I have fished. Fucken damn near all the good ones. From the OP to the Spokane. From Ross Lake to the Klickitat, and lots in between. Lakes, creeks, seeps, rivers, canals, slews, puddles, it’s a lot. And being back over here for guiding makes me realize I have got to get out of here. Not permanently, but I can’t do full time here in Washington anymore. Nothing is holding me here now. My anchors have all been cut free. Some more forcefully and suddenly than others. But I’m in the wind now.

South, no more snow. No more winters sitting doing nothing except Netflix, booze, weed, and flies being tied. No more hibernation. It makes me cranky and hibernation alone seems frightening. So I’ve gotta keep moving. So South, that’s what we are working towards. Another boat, different fish, warmer weather, maybe a shorter beard, I don’t like humidity, and the opportunity to learn something new and completely different than anything I’ve ever done. I don’t mind being out of my comfort zone. Fuck I don’t think I have one save for on the water. And I definitely feel suddenly forced into a very uncomfortable place. I want to control being out of that zone. I want to be the reason I’m there. Me. Not tragedy, trauma, and shock being the culprits. That’s a change I need and seek.

Working trout in other places also has its appeal. And my distaste for working for others has waned since my experience on the St. Joe. Finding trout fishing in places where there is more opportunity and yes…better fishing; like Idaho and Montana is also being chased. It’s time. I need to guide other places. Experience more. I want it. And with no anchors I can float that way.

Out of the comfort zone. I want challenge. Water that is new, water that makes me pucker, I want to meet new and more people through angling. Fully embracing the community I hold so dear. I want to be that troutbum guide. I’ll always guide the Yakima. Especially in the fall, but I want 250 to 270 guided days a year anglers. The other days are for me to fish.

And I want to fish, trout but also weird places like Costa Rica, for whatever, Iceland, I’d love to go back to Alaska, for a week that’s long enough, I’d love to catch an Arimpima in the jungles of Brazil, a shark, and God do I wanna personally fish for Bulltrout and Redfish. I love bull trout. Went to Canada years ago just for a shot at a 40 incher. I got it. And then some. To have the opportunity to do that again this year, and more to come is something I want. And Redfish, never have I caught them, but the bass angler in me wants some of that shit. They get big, they eat the fuck out of flies, and they have a cool spot on their tail I want to see up close. I’m a sucker for spotted tails.

And I want to always improve my casting. It’s a constant thing. Some people are born good casters or it is effortless for them…I am not that person. It is always work for me and I am consistently tuning and learning my cast personally. I am a born oarsman, not angler. I made myself into a good angler, rowing is what comes naturally and effortlessly for me and I’ve made peace with that. Changing up what you fish for and actually getting chances to fish help make you a better caster.

Those are the things that go through the mind of a this guide driving around and fishing anyway. And I’ll take those thoughts opposed to the others that want to creep in currently. It’ll be good to guide and fish with others. It’s not the easiest thing to fish and row from the boat all the time. And this activity of chasing fish with flies is wonderful solo…but honestly and I’ve been doing this for almost 2 decades now…its designed to be experienced with others and shared.

Just like life. We are meant to be social, have partners, pairs, sometimes the same for our lives, sometimes not. Fly fishing and at least my life are sometimes too similar that it frightens me. And I won’t lie, lately and at other points in my life, I have felt like the solitary bulltrout, ranging far and wide, hunting, feeding, and always seeking out another. If I was a trout…it wouldn’t be a cutthroat, my favorite fish, I’d be a bulltrout. And that’s both sad and awesome in its own way. Booze kicked in.

See ya on the water anglers,

Tamarack

The Basin

This post is gonna get a little personal. Fair warning.

It’s been 2 weeks but it feels like a month. Time is not the same, a concoction of trauma, shock, and no bearing from the river, no hatches to time my day, no sun hitting the water telling me what time it is, no clients to tell me what day it is. I get hit with waves, I still look at my phone anticipating a text or message, I cry a lot. I spent time alone in the mountains trying.  Didn’t work. Too many memories that are fresh. Plus rain.

I have her ashes now. Some kind of closure I reckon. Gives me the opportunity to share the places I ramble with her.  We had done a lot and planned to do more. I still get a little bit of that I suppose.

I’m still numb, but I put on a good face.  I must give props and gratitude to my fellow guides and anglers who allowed me to just bum it in the shops, not ask questions, let me tie flies, talk shop, and try and move through the day like me. J Michelle and Gabe you did a lot for me today with or without knowing.

I need to get back to work. I’m swimming in myself without it. And its a maelstrom in here and I don’t have the right boat for it.

The river mirrors what’s going on internally and I can’t look at it any…more. Maybe when it calms so will I. Here at the lakes of my early days, in the twilight, the sky lime, blue, and orange, stars peeking, I feel the river pull me less. It is still there, its incessant tumbling, roiling, and whitewater noise humming in my head…but too far away to draw me into those depths.

It’s warm here, it’s not raining, the breeze is blowing the right way so you don’t smell cow shit.  Just the lakes and sage. The bats frolic and flutter about chasing the tricos, caddis, and skeeters.  Frogs croaking and the toollies whispering against the wind.  The lake is rippled and the three quarter moon bright; casting faint shadows and reflecting off the ever moving lake surface. It glints and glitters, the campfires little pops of light around the banks. A party down yonder with Latin music playing politely, I recall the tunes from my youth. 

Sad doesn’t really work as a descriptive word but I can’t find a better one despite my love of words.  Under it all I do feel that ambition to chase fish though. It’s there trying to break through, but I’m only letting it bubble up one…bubble…at a time. It’s there though, and my boat knows it. 

She has always had words with me. She talks. 12 years with a boat and all the places and miles we’ve done together we have full on conversations. She remembers clients and fish, people and experiences, my alter ego in a sense, the part of me no one gets to know save for a few who’ve heard our chats, and her. They talked, she understood. 

The boat knows and it senses what I’m doing to that drive and need to fish. She knows I can’t sit still.  The boat talks shit when I miss fish, gets angry when she isn’t in the water but getting driven around, the boat knows and she is pushy. I named the boat The Subtle Tale but she is anything but. Here on the lakes she knows what I want. I want bass.  Good ones.  I want to cast and cast, strip and pull, set and hook, land and smile. She knows.  Her ass will be cawing at me at sunup telling me there are fish waiting. Maybe those Muskie in the lake just over the low ridge, or those stinky stalked trout in the lakes I sit between. Even if it’s windy she says we go, we have an anchor and you know the coves and edges the wind doesn’t effect the cast no matter which way it comes from. You know Nate.  And the boat is that part of me. I’ve put myself into this boat. Blood, sweat, tears, broken rods, lost and landed fish, all the people we’ve shared experiences with, I am my boat and she is me.

I’m sitting in my boat instead of a camp chair writing this because I’m always more comfortable in here.  My hands only ever content with oars in them, this is the only place I can sit in one place for hours these days. It grounds me in the fluid motion of water, makes me one with whatever we find ourselves floating.  Water no longer scares me, only excites me, and that drive is there, I lost my fear of water long ago after being made to feel small by it.  I’ve embraced it, tis why I row, I snorkel, I fish.  Water is home, no matter where it be.  The boat and I have floated and fished all kinds of water, big and small, foreboding and butt hole puckering, calm and delightful, miles upon miles in too many rivers and places to name. It’s what I know and love.

Here in the Basin, not the Yakima or Teanaway is where the boat and I slide back into things. Neither the Yak or I am ready for the river, despite the boats’ pleas to hit that big ass water because we both know we could. No. Here where it all started for me; this is where we find it again. Be on water first and off last. From dawn till dusk, plant myself in the boat all fucking day and sit still for once. Well…as much as my boat and I sit still in the water.

Tie in the boat, eat in the boat, fuck take a ciesta in the boat. I’ve made myself stay put here. Put trips on the schedule for the next 2 weeks. Thank you to everyone that is coming out. I need this and have a few days to put myself through it before guiding. The weather gets nice, it will be warm, fish will eat, and I will find myself guiding again.

The evening sets in, the lake still glints in the moonlight. Ushering me to my tent, my boat whispering sleep Nate, you must be up before the fish. I listen hesitantly, but I do what I’m told, slowly. Okay boat, let me finish this smoke and ponder a moment longer as I look at the lake and I will adhere. Fish to be chased on the morn.

Goodnight anglers

Tamarack

Anxious isn’t a strong enough word.

I can’t sit still. It’s bad, and I’m gonna just be open and honest here anglers. Shit isn’t good.  I’m exhausted with answering the question, “How are you doing?”  Not fucken good.  I’m not trying to be an ass or anything but that’s the answer and it will be for a while.

Rivers are blown, it won’t stop raining, everything from my beard to my feet, tent to my boat is soaked.  It’s like I’m on the peninsula. I hate the OP anglers. I fished the lake, figured it out, got bored, caught a few, ended up with the shanks in my hook set and missed too many fish because my mind isn’t in it. Plus it would not stop fucking raining!I don’t need to fish…I need to guide.

And yes I need to get back to work before anyone asks any question about it. I’m only good at one fucking thing in this world and that’s guiding. I made myself into a good one, one of the best if you ask around, hated and loved by many.  I know this about myself, I’ve earned it through hard work and growing a good guide program with my business. So yes I want to get back to it.  It’s literally…all I’ve got fucking left.

I’ll heal, and that takes time. So I’m going to and need to be allowed to heal my way. That way is through sharing trout, river, the craft of fly fishing, knowledge, and running my boat down river shooting that shit into my veins 2 anglers at a time.  I need to be in that rythym, that groove, where river, anglers, guide, boat, and trout all vibing and clicking into place. I need to have the opportunity to make it happen, to be the cause of it, to feel its effect.

I need to slip into that place where I don’t see the river but I see the flow, the seams, the depths, the changes, the way the fly moves, the time of the drift, knowing when the fish is going to eat, calling it, counting it down, plugging anglers into it with me. I need it or I’m going to fucking explode.

How do you help?  You let me do my job. Give me a challenge, let me teach, let me learn, let me listen, observe, and dive in. I’ve tried a lot of things in my adult life, guiding is it.  There’s no questions about it for myself, I am a fly fishing guide…that’s it. And I don’t care what species, if it will eat a fly I will chase it, learn it, and teach it. I’ve chased damn near every cold freshwater species and most cold saltwater species, knocked a few warm freshwater species off the list and I will not spend another winter here.  There are saltwater species down south that are calling. I am answering. So I need to work because gas ain’t cheap and a new saltwater skiff is gonna need a good chunk of cash.

So I chase bass, and Muskie, trout in lakes, carp in puddles, and fucken what have you until the damn river drops. Then I’m gonna fish the absolute fuck out of the river and yes we’re gonna fish the Teanaway too.  It’ll be tough for me at first but that water is mine…and I mean that.  It’s mine. I’ve spent more time up there than most if not all. Because I’m the one up there so I’d see you and I don’t. I’ve spent years working, and waiting for that river to be what it is today.  Since I first laid fly fishing eyes on it in 2004, to when I watched it wither and die in 2015, to now when it’s healthy and working like it should.  Nothing and I mean nothing, will keep me from that water. And that’s more to say to myself than anyone reading this.

Will I always guide the Yakima?  The short answer is yes.  All season long moving forward…probably not.  Washington isn’t the best place for a guide with the Yakima River being basically the last place to actually chase river fish in the state that’s worth a damn. I’ve guided other places, and can’t seem to break into more days here.  It will be my last full time season on the Yakima. I will be chasing work down south. After guide offers during this past winter in other states and turning them down because I was planning a different life for myself…those offers won’t be sidelined next time and I will seek them out moving forward.

You want to help? Know an outfitter that could use a guide like me?  Send them my way or vice versa. That will help.  The Yakima cannot sustain or satiate my desire to guide and chase fish. And burnout is a real thing. I’ve done 56 days already this season.  And June is a bust so we’ve got July August, September, and October to get it done.  There’s roughly 140 to 160 guideable days left of the season and I want them all. 200 days is probably out but we can get fucking close. That’s how you can help.

Those that have guided with me for years know how I am. This has been coming. After covid and everything else, it’s time.

Am I okay?  No, but that will change. Let it be and let me guide. If not on this blasted river then on my stomping grounds in the Basin for bass and other fish.  Or in Montana, or Idaho, Canada, Alaska, Mexico, Iceland, Texas, Florida, Louisiana, I don’t fucking care just let me guide.

That’s where I’m at.  My off river life is off river and non-existent right now. There is only water. I can’t sit still because of it. There’s no river to fish so all I am is anxious.  And anxious isn’t a strong enough word. Stir crazy doesn’t even begin to describe it. I am lost. And I need water under me to have a bearing.

Am I as angry as the river torrent?  Yes.  Sad and melancholy like the skies.  Yes.  Furious and aflame like my campfires. Yes. I sleep less, and wake with the sun, can’t stay down, my body wants me up, my arms and back want to feel the weight and pull of my oars. My legs want to burn against the current. My eyes want to be tired and overworked, fingers numb and pricked by hooks, knuckles beaten and bloody, palms calloused and rough, skin scorched, my voice hoarse, my sanity lost in fly fishing. I want my cast dialed in and perfect, no matter the rod, presentations precise, timing immaculate, I want to be in the groove, the funk, plugged in, dialed up, got the chops, getting it, sending it, roping ’em, tagging, bagging, cashing checks. Lost in the absolute fuck of fly fishing. That is all I know and all I want to do.

Anxious isn’t a strong enough word. I need to be in that place so I don’t go anywhere else. Put me there, put myself there, get there.

I ramble anglers. On to the next place to chase fish and fall into that groove.

Tamarack

See ya on the water anglers,

Bass fishing it is.

Shits blown until maybe the 20th. Probably until July. So we are pivoting and headed to the Basin to guide lakes for bass, Muskie and trout.

I’ll reach out to those on the calendar about options.

I’m headed there Sunday or Monday to set camp and get cracking. If you’d like to fish and book a guide trip you know what to do.

See ya out there anglers.

Tamarack

Bass fishing it is.

Shits blown until maybe the 20th. Probably until July. So we are pivoting and headed to the Basin to guide lakes for bass, Muskie and trout.

I’ll reach out to those on the calendar about options.

I’m headed there Sunday or Monday to set camp and get cracking. If you’d like to fish and book a guide trip you know what to do.

See ya out there anglers.

Tamarack