RIP LPS

Review for No Sports Allowed Vol. 1

Every fly fisherman shares a passion and obsession when it comes to catching fish. Both are portrayed in telling stories (along with a few lies), and when the hopeful fisherman steps into the brisk, clear water of a flowing river. ‘No Sports Allowed,’ is a humerous, passionate, and enthusiastic film about a group of Idaho fish hounds who all share the same love for a quiet sport. With plenty of bent rods, smiles, and of course hungry Idahoian trout, the film has a knack for sparking a “I want to fish now” mind set. Be prepared to experience great fish-catching action, some good humor, and a life style belonging to a group of goofy Idaho fly fishing guides. It’s how they do, and they do it well.

Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Just a random assortment of photos.

Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Photo By: Kris Kennedy

Ruby river brown.

Ruby river brown.

Hey all!! A new online fly fishing magazine  by the name of Fish Can’t Read will be coming out the 15th of this month. Make sure to check it out!!

Here is the website: www.fishcantread.com

See you there!!!!!

Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Nils Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Nils is from a small town/village in Germany (I over-heard him explain it’s where-abouts and name several times, but for some reason the name has evaded my memory). He’s a very very young 74 year old who could give a 50 year old a run for his money (not kidding). I was dumb-founded when I heard him say 74. When out on the river Nils was all business. His uniform consisted of the G4 Pro waders, a very nifty vest that allowed for deep wading, a sick (very nice) hat that had some worldy feathers stuck in the band, and also a net that was stuck to his back with a magnet. He definatley had good taste in gear. His weapons of choice (rods & reels) were a 3 weight Loop rod and reel, and Sage’s XP 6 weight (the XP was his favorite rod). Like I said, he meant business. When back at camp I would hear him rave about some of the guide’s casting skills and all the while I’m thinking to myself, “Nils you could give those guides a run for their money in a casting competition.” This guy could throw some line!

When out on the river, Nils knew exactly what he wanted to fish. If the run wasn’t fast, and had good cover for a fish to hold in, he would tell us to just go to the next spot. He made his own fly choices, tied everything on himself, released his own fish, and he even made the guides fish with him. That’s right, he made the guides fish!! To say the least, nobody was complaining. It’s not often that we get to rip some lip.

Photo by: Camille Egdorf

The fishing this week was good. Again the leeches, mice, and smolt patterns cleaned house. The salmon are just starting to spawn so eggs, and flesh patterns are starting to drift through redds. The Nushagak is once again alive with thousands of fish. Bear prints are littering the gravel bars, moose are being spotted in front of camp, the Artic Terns are hatching their chicks, wolves are roaming the tundra, and the rainbows are getting fat. Going upriver from camp is getting tough. The boat ride is full of ducking and diving to avoid trees, sliding to keep from beaching, and tight turns to evade root balls and log jams. A few more days of 80+ degrees and going up river will be a dream.

Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Back in camp, Nils got out his fly tieing kit and showed me some of his tricks. He watched me tie up a steelhead fly then gave me some constructive critisism. I tell you what, I can make one hell of a steelhead fly now! He was even kind enough to give me a very generous amount of tieing materials. Fox hair, hackles, deer hair, and so forth. Thanks again Nils for all the great stuff I will surly put it to good use! Nils was also a very skilled tier. There are times when a certain fly is working best, and for some reason you can’t keep it away from the trees and submerged logs. That was Nils problem for one day, and unfortunately he lost most of his key flies. So he kept one for an example and that night he tied up some of his own. They turned out pretty darn good, and by-golly they caught fish.

Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Nils time at camp went by fast. Moose sightings, crazy boat rides, hot weather, bent rods, good food, and great company were all part of the recipe for a fun filled time. It was good to have you here Nils, and we hope to see you again! Safe travels and keep a bend in your rod!

Tight lines——-< ‘)))))><

Dave, Kim, Camille, Nick, Nick, James, and Kris!

Left to right: Patty, Don, Warren, John, and Drake. Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Early morning moose encounter. Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Streamers, woolley buggers, mice, and smolt patterns have been the bugs of choice. Deep eddies, and submerged logs are still holding large amounts of fish, rainbows, grayling, and dollies combined. More salmon are being spotted everyday, most of which are Chums, or Dog salmon. During the evenings everyone will sit on the picnic table and watch salmon push up river. For awhile there was a little competition going on who would see the first king. I never did hear what the stakes were but a king never was spotted.

Photo by: James M.

John and Patty stayed for three days and then headed back to the real world. It was a joy to have them both in camp. It’s not very often that you come accross such nice people as them. Drake, Brett’s brother, also decided to leave camp early. Apparenty he couldn’t hack the mosquitoes and bombardment of sh*t talking the guides and his brother gave him….haha….just kidding Drake!! We all missed you and camp was surly a little quieter without you around! Hope we will see you back up here again soon!

The week was nothing but fun. There’s nothing like having a camp full of appreciative people who enjoy just being out in the boonies. There’s not very many places like this left and when it’s shared with the right people it gives you hope that it will someday be protected and threat free. Alaska is our last frontier, and we need to do whatever we can to keep it wild. The fish forcast for the next several weeks is nothing but bent rods. If your scheduled for a week this summer……be prepared and ready for some serious lip rippin!! See you on the water!

Go Daddy (June 19-26)

Photo by: Nick Meilander

The past week has been a great one. Again we’ve had six clients occupy the beds here at the Nushagak river camp, and all suceeded in ripping an unreasonable amount of lip. This week we had Paul and his son Eric, Ed and Neil, Mike and his son Scott.

Photo by: Camille Egdorf

As usual the new arrivees were shy and unsure of what they had gotten themselves into, which is understandable because the crew here has lost a considerable amount of their marbles as a result from the Alaskan state bird (the mosquito). But after the flow of a little whiskey, wine and beer everyone loosened up and the smiles flashed. It was going to be another great week.

The weather stood it’s ground for the next couple of days. The warm sunny days kept spirits up and the sunscreen an arm’s reach away. The fishing had also stayed the same. Large leeches and woolley buggers plinked off some fatties from under trees and log jams, while the mouse lured hot rainbows out from the depths of deep eddies and cut banks. Then some much needed rain came in and made sure everything was washed clean. The river came up maybe 6 inches, just enough to make things a little easier on the boat motors, but not enough to color up the river. The next few days everyone left the sunscreen in the bunk and packed in extra layers. Crawling out of the sleeping bag in the morning got to be a challenge, while the cold wind during the boat rides began to bite at the face.

Getting ready to go fishing!! Photo by: Camille Egdorf

The cooler temperatures however didn’t deter the drive to catch fish. Everyone came back with pictures of nice fish and memories that would last a lifetime. Salmon are showing up more and more everyday. Moose are being spotted during the fishing day as well as right in front of camp. Bear and wolf tracks are a common sighting on gravel bars. The Nushagak River is coming to life once again.

Photo By: Camille Egdorf

After spending a long winter in the Nushagak river’s deep holes and eddies, the rainbows, grayling and dolly varden jump started the 09 season with a force strong enough to knock out a grizzley. Shooting out from submerged logs and deep cut banks, fish engulfed anything that twitched, whether it was a skated mouse or a weighted streamer. The day of lip rippn began at 6:30 am with coffee at the door, then followed by a hearty, rib-sticking breakfast.

Guide Kris Kennedy setting Bob up with a King Smolt. Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Frank and John are four year returnees. Being long time fishing companions, both know eachother like a reel and a line. It was humerous to hear the two battle back-and-forth over minor issues. One evening, John made the statement that he wanted to get his big fish picture over the course of the next few days. Frank, who had already achieved that goal earlier on in the week, volunteered to be the photographer. The next day, John hooks into and lands a 23+ inch rainbow. A perfect specimen for the big fish shot. Frank snaps a few pics. Later that day, John decides to take a look at his prize fish picture. To his dismay and horror the only thing that would pop up on the screen were three pictures of Frank’s eyeball.

This week’s fishing was fairly good. The water level is lower than usual at this time of year so the boat rides have been full of excitment. It’s difficult to say, “we want rain,” but if the water level continues to drop then fishing up river will be a thing of the past. So we are praying for rain. The water clarity is perfect. At the beginning of the week there was some color but it was more than likely due to late spring run-off. Streamers such as woolley buggers, sculpzillas, silvey sculpins, and several others have been producing well. Mouse fishing has also been very productive. Frank and John spent one full day fishing the mouse. “We caught fish all day,” they boast. “We probably could have caught more if we used streamers, but skating a mouse was just too much fun to pass up.” Streamer colors vary from day-to-day depending on weather and water temperature. White is always a fun color to fish because it allows you to watch “the take”. Swinging a white streamer under a log and witnessing a fat-pig rainbow come out from the depths and crush it, always sends your heart to your throat.

Nick Meilander with a nice McGeary Creek rainbow. Photo By: Camille Egdorf

 Artic Grayling and Dolly Varden are littered through-out the river. The Grayling have been raging on the dry-fly hatches for the past several days. Small caddis and stoneflies have been peppering the river and providing anglers with a fun and action packed time throwing dries. It’s not unusual to see a grayling snag a mouse too.

The camp atmosphere was super this week. At dinner, everyone shared their most memorable fish story and at the campfire everyone enjoyed a jam session with a scotch. My mother is an accomplished pianist, Nick and Kris are hardcore guitar pickers, and I play the old moose jaw. We haven’t practiced in awhile but after a few off keys we managed to come together and make some good ole Nushagak music. Roger and Kathrine started dancing as John chimed in some lyrics, while everyone else laughed and took pictures. It was John’s 73rd birthday so we watched him make a wish and blow out his candles (matches). I’ve never seen a happier 73 year old. Later that night John pulled my dad aside and said, “You have a place here that enables you to enrich people’s lives. I’m happy to say that you’ve enriched mine. Thank you.”

A jam session in progress. Photo by: Camille Egdorf

The first week was a wonderful way to start off the season. Salmon are starting to show up and the mosquitoes are scheduled to slow down within the next week. The weather looks good and the fishing is only getting better. Myself and everyone here at camp is looking forward to the rest of the season and the memories to be had.

Photo by: Camille Egdorf

 For more information on Egdorf’s Nushagak River Lodge please visit this site:  Http://flyfishingtravel.com/alaska/egdorfs.html

Photo By: Camille Egdorf

 Once at Aleknagik lake, which is about a 30 minute drive East of Dillingham, we hitched a ride accross and got settled in. My dad was still in Anchorage there for we couldn’t get out to camp yet. After launching the boats, hooking up the water, and doing several other small things, the guys and I decided to do a little pike fishing.

We left the house at 10 pm. Let me remind you that at this time of year in Alaska it doesn’t get dark. It was a perfect setting for a possibly perfect evening out in a pike slew. Completely calm water, warm and sunny, and not a single mosquito. We couldn’t resist.

Photo By: Camille Egdorf

Northern Pike are notorious for being very aggressive. I look at them like a fresh water barracuda. Teeth sharp as razors driven by an appetite like that of a 15 year old, they’ll eat nearly anything whether it be a stikle-back minnow, or a small duck. As we cast our lines out to the weeds and stripped back in we could see them follow right behind the fly. They would either follow right to the boat and turn away or they would eat right before you started another cast. Often times that led to pulling the fly right out of their mouths, which really got annoying after awhile.

After seeing 30+ fish and only catching 1 we decided to move farther up the slew just to have a look around. We rounded a bend and decided to throw a few more casts.

“Three casts each,” Nick says. “Then we’ll head home.”

As can be expected three casts turned into twenty. Nick had a monster pike follow his fly several times, so when he couldn’t catch it James and I had to give it a go. The monster was never caught. We packed up our gear, grabbed a beer, and threw on some extra layers for the trip home. Nick was the driver, and to our dismay the boat WOULD NOT START.

We all stood there staring at the motor scratching our heads. Could it be the plugs, do we have gas, is it flooded, and on and on. The thought of being about being nearly two miles from home with a down motor and no oars was not appealing. (In our excitment to go fishing we completely forgot about oars). Finally we came to the conclusion that we ran out of gas. I know, it’s pretty embarrassing to run out of gas. Now we all know to never trust a gas gage. At this point we realized that we were not going to be driving back home, but paddling with our hands. After the first five minutes of using our hands and only moving 20ft, we decided to look around and dig up some better paddling devices. I found a bailer, Nick found the top of the battery case, and James grabbed a life jacket. With all three of us laying on the bow with our new paddling instuments we started moving pretty quick. I estimated about 3 mph. Even though the current situation royally sucked, we couldn’t help but laugh. Here are three fly-fishing guides laying on the bow of a gas deprived boat with no oars paddling home with a life-jacket, a bailer, and the top of a battery case. If there was anyone on the beach watching this, I can imagine it being hilarious. I would have paid money to have gotten it on camera.

At about half-way, the sound of swirling water and endless paddling became to much. “James sing us a song,” says Nick

James sat there for a minute and then began singing. “Row row row your boat gently down the stream.” NO!!!! Anything but that song!! Both Nick and I shout. All of us just started laughing. Pretty soon all three of us were singing different songs at various pitches. I was singing Have You Ever Seen The Rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival, James kept repeating a verse from some rap song which was “I’m on a boat B***H.” Then Nick was singing some Nickelback song. I began thinking to myself, ” If we’re crazy now, what is it going to be like three months from now?”

Nick and James. Photo By: Camille Egdorf

At this point visibility was getting low. Even though it doesn’t get pitch black at this time of year, it can still get pretty dark. We we’re now on the home stretch and our paddling pace started to pick up. We all made a guess at what time we would be back. I guessed 1am, Nick guessed 1:48am, and James guessed 2:06am. By the time we did reach home it was 2am. After all the paddling and excitment there was no way we could go to bed. We stayed up and played some cards and shot around some BS. It must have been 3:30am before we finally went to bed. The next day we decided to go fishing again, and that time we made sure we had gas, and an oar.

The midnight sun. Photo By: Camille Egdorf

After my close encounter with an elusive Russian steelhead, we deciced to meander over to another run. I was still giddy with excitment so I was a little hesitant to leave but Jones assured me that we would be returning to the same spot later that afternoon.

Waiting for the big grab. Photo By: Justin Miller

 The next spot was also another very beautiful peace of water (not much of this river is ugly). We were able to over-look the river and watch fish move by. I even got to see a seal, which at first caught me off guard because I was unaware of seals being in that area. After fishing the run for about an hour or two we decided to move. I had just reeled in and was walking back to the car when an Osprey came swooping down and snatched up a fish. He was about 100 feet high, and began to hover in one spot for about 30 seconds before he folded his wings and pointed his nose straight down. Just as he was about to hit the water he shot his feet forward and stretched his wings back, forming a torpedo like shape. He hit the water and disappeared for two seconds then emerged with a silver bullet in his talons. It was pretty sweet to witness a search and destroy mission. It’s easy to forget how well adapted animals are to their enviornment. To be able to see a small fish from 100 ft+ is truly amazing, let alone make a dive and be accurate enough to actually make fish and talon connect. Too bad we didn’t get the action on film. If any of you want to check out some AMAZING Osprey photos check out this site: www.miguellasa.com.

The Russian River Photo by: Camille Egdorf

 After we watched the osprey fly off with it’s prize, we hopped back in the truck and went back to the run where we started that morning. As was expected there were a fair amount of people there. It resembled a small beach so it was a great place for those who wanted to tan. It happened to be a warm and sunny day so there was a substantial amount of people laying on blankets cooking themselves. There were also some fisherman either chucking bait or in Jones’ words,”Stinking up the water,” or swining a fly. We all kinda squeezed our way into the run and began fishing. As I was standing in the cool water, I noticed some rather older and rougher looking individuals visiting on the beach. All where sitting on a blanket, and from what I could tell where either intoxicated or under-the-infulence of something else. All where laughing obnoxiously and whenever one stood up he wobbled and just sat back down again. To say the least….I was amused. I turned my attention back to my fishing but never did stop listening to the drunken hillbillies behind me. Some comic releif was more than welcomed. After awhile, a breeze kicked up and I thought I got a whiff of some Mary Jane (slang for weed). I looked around and didn’t see any indication of someone smoking the reefer. Then I saw a thick cloud of smoke hovering over the drunken hillbillies. I figured that was the source and also the reason for their inability to walk or laugh in a civilized manner.

Like Jones had promised, we returned to the run where I had the big grab. I was still rigged with my bright orange fly (I couldn’t bring myself to use anything else, after a big grab like that I considered it the “lucky fly”). I waded out to the same spot, stripped out some line, and whipped the fly out towards the bank. I gave it a big mend and let it begin it’s swing. It wasn’t 20 seconds before I had another big grab, and this time the fight went all the way. I lifted my rod up and almost immediately the fish made that Galvan Torque sing. I looked at Jones and Chris Aff, who decided to join us that afternoon, and let out the biggest, “Wooooohoooo.” Some fisherman who where up river from us chimmed in as well. It was such a good feeling. The fish made two hard runs, and then allowed me to slowly bring him in.

After the exciting catch, we decided to call it a day and head back to Santa Rosa. Once back at the house I jumped in the shower and got cleaned up for dinner. Jones cooked up some excellent meat for hot sandwiches, while his girlfriend set up the table and set Justin and I up with drinks. We all sat down for dinner and scarfed down some awesome sandwiches and Mountain Dew. Jones made the comment that he’d never had a dew before, and upon hearing that both Justin and I looked up with big eyes.

Photo by: Justin Miller

 After supper we all sat down on some of thee most comfy couches ever, and watched Curb Your Enthusiasm. It was the perfect way to end the day. I went to bed feeling pretty dog-on-good that night.

Photo by: Justin Miller

Justin and I arrived into Santa Rosa at around 10:30 pm Teusday night. Justin had been telling me all about his good friend Jones, whom we were going to going fishing with the next couple of days.

“He’s the coolest dude, you”ll really like this guy,” he goes.

After hearing some amusing stories about adventures he and Jones had been on, I was really looking forward to meeting this guy and do some fishing with him.

Jones is a all that Justin said he was. A very laid back, chill, and steelhead obbsessed fly-fisherman. Justin and I were going to stay at his place, so when we arrived we sat down on the couch and developed a game plan for the day to come. We agreed upon a 5:30 wake up and breakfast at a small diner in Gurnsville. After hearing the 5:30 part of the conversation I decided to turn in for the night.

Bang, bang, bang!!!        ”YOOOO,” I shout as I roll over.

“Time to go fishing,” says Justin in an enthusiastic voice. “Lets do it,” I reply.

As I walk into the garage, I see Jones and Justin gearing up and stuffing themselves into their waders. In surprise, I do the same. I never thought I would be putting on my waders at 5:30 in the morning. We drive into Gurnsville and the town is desolate in the coasty fog. We stop next to this small diner and walk in to see two older gentlemen sitting at the bar reading a newspaper. Then across the room were two individuals that were clearly feeling the affects of St. Patty’s day (which was the night before). Both were sitting in a back corner playing and gawking at their little dog, which was fairly amusing.

The Russian in the early morning fog. Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Photo by: Camille Egdorf

Photo by: Justin Miller

I made a big mend, and let the bright orange fly do it’s thing. As it swung, I made a quick glance at Justin, who was down river from me. I watched in utter amazement and jealousy as he makes a flawless cast. I shook my head, and looked back towards my fly, wishing that someday I could be as good as he was. My fly was at the end of it’s swing, and I grasped ahold of my line to begin stripping it in when I felt a tug. “Dog-gone-it, I’m stuck on the bottom,” I thought.

Just then I felt a heavy tug and the head-shake of a fish. My stomach went to my throat and I raised my rod. The fight was short lived for it was about 30 seconds before he slipped from my fly, but the steelhead was kind enough to show himself one breif second. He broke the surface and allowed everyone to get a good look at him. Then he was gone. I was beyond excited. I could have cared less about losing the fish, I was just ecstatic that I even got to see one. I tried to fish right away, because there could have been another fish in the area, but my efforts were futile. I was experiencing shaky and tingly hands, weak knees, and a high pitched voice. I had to just stand there out in the river for a few minutes and regain my compsure.

“That was really cool,” said Jones.

I would have been happy if that was all that I got on that trip, but it only got better from then on.

Can you see the fly? Photo by: Justin Miller

Photo by: Justin Miller