Snake, swallows and smallmouth surprise

While I was fishing a lake for smallmouth bass today, I had some unexpected company.
I had kicked my float tube out to an island, and then walked the shoreline casting a crayfish pattern. As I was working my way down the shore along a 12-foot cliff riddled with swallow nests, a snake surprised me from about 10 feet away. As always, I first suspected he was a buzzworm until closer inspection revealed no rattles on the end of his tail. I think he was a bull snake, about 3.5 to 4 feet long.
I watched him slither up the cliff and work in and out of the swallow holes. He was probably looking for eggs, baby swallows or an adult, if he should trap one in the nest.
I never saw him catch anything, but the swallows were not happy with his presence. They kept divebombing the cliff, but were careful not to get too close to a hungry reptile.
The only other time I observed a snake hunting cliff swallow nests was on the Smith River in Montana, but that time it was a prairie rattler.
I didn't mind sharing the island with a bull snake today. A rattler would be different.

First smallmouth bass of the year

In the immortal words of the late Randy "Macho Man" Savage:

Ooooooh, yeah!

First Wyoming trout of the year

If you only catch one fish in a day, it might as well be a memorable one.

That's what happened today when I caught my first Wyoming trout of the year. I traveled to a lake where some friends had a banner outing last week. Armed with their information on what flies to use, where to fish and how to fish, I felt confident of repeating their success.

Of course, that didn't happen. Two days of snow in the intervening period had totally changed conditions. I cast futilely for about 90 minutes before moving to the boat ramp where I thought rainbows might be attempting to spawn.

The fish were there and on my second cast to a cruising 'bow, the big boy turned and went right for my egg/chironomid combo. After a short battle, a guy fishing nearby netted the fish for me and also shot some video of my poorly executed release.

The 24-incher turned out to be my only fish, indeed my only strike, of the day. But it could well turn out to be the biggest trout I catch all year.

If so, a one-fish day will be OK.

Finally - first trout of the year

It took four months and three days, but I finally caught my first fish of 2011 today. I must admit that I had only been on the water twice so far this year. But usually I've caught a few, if not a lot, of trout by now. The cold, windy weather this spring has kept me indoors, however, and the fishing has been slow anyways.

This morning, I headed to one of my favorite lakes where I almost always have success. Many times, this lake has produced 30 or more fish in a day. So I was optimistic.

It was cold and windy when I arrived - no big surprise there. I started off with chironomids with no success. I switched to a beadhead prince nymph, again with no results. After lunch, I switched to the old, reliable Woolly Bugger and started getting some action.

Six brown trout and two cutthroats later, I was happy. As a bonus, I saw two bald eagles and a moose.

The trout drought of 2011 is over!

Slow fishing, so let's ski

This spring has started out slowly for fishing. I've been out twice - one day for maybe an hour and the next for an hour and a half. It's just been too cold for me and for the trout, apparently.

But all the snow in the mountains during April means skiing is still good, as the Ph.D. of Ski and I found out Saturday, April 30, when we skinned up the slopes of the Snowy Range Ski Area.

We experienced the usual smorgasbord of Wyoming spring weather - sun, wind, clouds, snow - but also had 4-6 inches of new snow to shred. The base was sketchy in places, but solid in most, so we didn't have to ski very tentatively, but could let it rip.

There was some weirdness, of course. For some reason, a rake and several shovels were stuck in the snow on one slope. (You can see a rake briefly in the video.)

I assumed it was installation art. In any case, we didn't collide with any of the yard tools, and ended the day quaffing some microbrew in the Beartree Inn.

Spring skiing is like that.

Big powder day made the season

Every winter, I hope there is one day on the slopes that will be stored in my ever-shortening, long-term memory.

This winter, one day stood out. On a Wednesday morning, I checked Snowy Range's conditions and was amazed/skeptical to see 24 inches of new snow reported. It hadn't snowed at all in town.

I thought, "Screw work." I could get caught up that evening.

So I rousted Dave out of bed, and we headed west to check it out.

Once we reached Centennial, there was some new snow. As we climbed higher, the snow depth increased. But near the Forest Service Visitors Center, only one lane of Highway 130 was plowed. The other lane held at least 20 inches of new stuff. I could almost reach out the Toyota window and touch the snow.

As we rounded the corner before Barber Lake Road, there was a snowplow stuck off the highway, with another snowplow trying to tow it out. That's not something you see everyday, but was another sign that an epic ski day lay ahead.

Once the plow was back on the road, the two of them ran uphill, clearing both lanes at once. We pulled into the ski area parking lot and were not disappointed.

Snowy Range had not groomed any of the runs, and there was actually too much new snow on some of the less-steep slopes. Even on the steeper black diamonds, we could barely gain enough speed. I found it easier and faster to ski in other people's tracks, where there was only about 18 inches of snow that sloughed back in.

A few other shredders made it out that day, but it wasn't hard to find great snow anywhere on the mountain. It was a day that will not be soon forgotten.

Passing on the bird-hunting tradition

My son Dave has hunted with me since he was a little kid. I used to take his sisters and him with me on antelope trips. The girls outgrew their interest in those outings, but Dave continued to tag along until he turned 12 and could hunt himself.

His early hunts were for pheasant with a single-shot .410, which was replaced with a .20 gauge barrel the next year. A few years later, he received a .20 gauge pump shotgun with choke tubes for Christmas. That's the gun he still shoots.

We hunted pheasant together today. This is the first season he hasn't been eligible for Wyoming's youth hunts because he turned 18. But it's also the first season we can hunt together, rather than me just guiding him and handling the dog on the youth hunts.

Today wasn't a typical hunt with Dave, who is usually a deadeye shooter. He got the first bird that went up and by the time we broke for lunch, he had two pheasant in his game pouch. But then a streak of poor shooting and missed shots ensued. He was getting frustrated, but I tried to let him know that these streaks hit everybody.

At the last spot we parked, we heard a rooster cackle. I was eating a sandwich, so Dave and Xena took off in the direction of the cackler. They pushed him into some cattails where he soon launched himself. Dave knocked him down and Xena made a good retrieve of the wounded bird. It was a great ending to a nice November day. The only blemish on the outing was the rattlesnake I nearly stepped on.

I like hunting with Dave. My dad took me a few times when I was a teen, but I don't remember ever having any success.

But I still hunt with my father's Remington 1100. I also hunt with my grandfather's Winchester Model 12 and Browning semiautomatic. I like to think that someday these guns will be taken afield by Dave and his son.