Bible Scripture – FisherDad

Red Creek (Paragonah) Reservoir in the Early Fall

Looking southeast on the reservoir, the Fish Taco truck is evident to the left, while Luis oaring his new Outcast Fish Cat Cruzer float tube is seen on the right. Note the remaining burned timber in the high mountains above Luis.

This was my third trip to Red Creek Reservoir (a.k.a. Paragonah Reservoir), and my friend Luis’s first trip. Previous trips to Red Creek were in July 2009 and August 2017, so it has been eight years since I have fished this water. It seems to be one of Utah’s lesser known reservoirs. Perhaps that’s because it is 30 miles east of the town of Paragonah, which is on I-15 about halfway between Las Vegas and Salt Lake City, which is to say that there are more popular waters to fish closer to Las Vegas and Salt Lake. No matter why, weekday trips to Paragonah seem to provide pleasant solitude. On this trip we only witnessed one man, in a Toyota 4Runner, and he seemed to be inspecting the reservoir; he was not fishing.

An Antelope-Fish Story

We were surprised, and blessed, to witness these two Pronghorn antelope crossing the dirt road as we turned off NV-318 into the Kirch WMA. The one on the left was a young buck, likely less than two years old. It was a mere premonition of what was to come.

In the last 18 years, I have fished the Wayne Kirch Wildlife Management Area (Kirch WMA) at least 40 times. The Kirch WMA resides in the extreme eastern portion of Nye County, NV, about 60 miles south of Ely, NV. I have encountered Pronghorn antelope on two of those previous trips. My good friend, Luis, accompanied me on this trip. As I turned off NV Highway 318 onto the Kirch dirt access road, I mentioned to him there was a possibility we would see a Pronghorn or two. As if by some magic of the natural world, I immediately noticed a Pronghorn walking towards us on the Kirch access road. We were almost in disbelief as another joined it, and the two bucks sauntered off together in a southwesterly fashion.

December Trout at Cold Creek

Luis rigging up his fly rod on the Fish Taco tailgate. Although not visible in this photo, there were patches of snow from a mid-November snow storm on the north-facing crags over 9,000 feet.

We’ve had some unseasonably warm weather this first week of December, so my friend Luis and I decided to take a morning trip to Cold Creek pond to see what was left of the 987 trout planted in the pond about one month ago, probably during the cold snap we had in November so that the trout would survive the tanker delivery truck journey from the hatchery.

Cold Springs in the Kirch WMA

Luis bringing in a Rainbow trout from Cold Springs Reservoir.

The Nevada Department of Wildlife (NDOW) manages the State’s thirteen Wildlife Management Areas (WMAs) for the purpose of “conservation and protection of wetlands and waterfowl, including the use of WMAs for recreational fishing and hunting.” They also publish brochures such as the one for the Wayne Kirch WMA (which currently includes a photo of FisherDad lifted from this blog).

A Cold Creek Photo Shoot

A well framed photo of FisherDad seeking to catch “just one trout” from atop the dam that holds back the Cold Creek trout pond. The snow on Willow Peak in the background provided an interesting contrast (Willow is just under 10,000 feet tall). The burn area on its northeast face enhances the snow’s visibility. *(Photo by Yvette Robichaud.)*

One of the hobbies my sister-in-law Yvette enjoys is photography. She is quite skilled at it and is regularly active in a camera club. It seems to me that her interest in outdoor photography has expanded in her retirement years. She has participated in several camera trips to some of North America’s most remarkable national parks like Everglades, Acadia, Yosemite, Yellowstone, and Banff (Canada).

A Christmas Message

The east slope of the Sierra Nevada mountains from Bridgeport, CA, in June 2010. From this ranch on US-395, Yosemite National Park would be about 45 miles, directly as the crow flies over the Twin Peaks and Tuolumne Meadows and on to Half Dome, on the western side of the Sierras.

Another Christmas Season is upon us. They come so quickly for us sexagenarians, septuagenarians, and a couple octogenarians I know. For young families with children, the anticipation creates high energy and expectations. Older families look forward to reconnecting, especially with those members away at college or who have relocated from their home town. Despite its over-commercialization, it remains a time of celebration with family and friends, a time of generosity, kindness, and charity towards everyone. It can be a time of reconciliation for those whose relationships are strained for one reason or another. For some, it is a time to reflect upon the events of the past year and look forward to a “clean slate” offered by the new year. But underneath it all, the core of Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus. It is true that our nation appears to be moving away from its Christian roots, which has caused the holiday to feel more secular as its focus shifted to the giving and getting of gifts. But the underlying truth remains, Christmas is about the most amazing event ever recorded in history: the birth of Jesus the Christ.

Yankee Meadow Reservoir

I may be incorrect, but I believe the volcanic ridge to the east of Yankee Meadow (seen here) is on the edge of southern Utah’s Markagunt Plateau, a prominent volcanic field with a high point of over 11,000 feet. These meadows were beautiful on this sunny September day, but I bet they are even more awesome in the spring.

I have known of Yankee Reservoir for many decades. It was my brother Neal who told me about it, but I do not recall ever fishing it with him or anyone else. Yankee Meadow offered Brook trout back then (probably Rainbow trout as well). I suspect our New England roots fostered Neal’s sentimentalism for the Salvelinus fontinalis (the genus Salvelinus is sometimes referred to as a Char because their dark bodies are overlaid with unique light-cream, blue, pink, or red spots as contrasted by darker spots on the lighter body of the other trout genera).

Comins Lake in the Spring

My friend, Luis, is about to launch the Fish Cat-style float tube on Thursday morning. We had a leisurely breakfast at the motel, and this photo was taken around 8:00am. If we look lonely it is because we were the first to arrive at Comins, even at that morning hour. The wind was calm and the clouds had not yet begun to form over the mountain ranges. The snow capped mountains shown here are the middle section of the Egan Range. Egan runs about 108 miles north to south between the Nevada hamlets of Cherry Creek and Sunnyside. Its tallest peaks are Ward (10,936 ft.) and North Ward (10,803 ft.), both of which are in this photo.

This post is a pictorial essay of a wonderful trip to Ely, NV with my good friend Luis. About a year ago, after Luis retired, he told me of his desire to learn how to fly fish. We had frequented Cold Creek Pond as a starting place for him, and as he gained some experience there I began to set my sights on getting him on Comins Lake near Ely, NV. While the fishing was just “OK” for Comins standards, Luis’s delight to see and explore these parts of Nevada’s Great Basin was the best part of the trip. His infectious enthusiasm was punctuated with all sorts of observations and inquiries. I explained and answered everything to the best of my abilities. I enjoyed being a tour guide for Luis. I have great affection for Nevada, for its statuesque mountain ranges, spacious valleys, and folksy frontier towns, so I relished sharing whatever I knew.

The Purpose of Mending Your Line

The Fish Taco parked in the reflection of Cold Creek’s 9,967 foot Willow Peak, with snow still stuck to its northeast face on this wonderful May 11th of 2023.

I wish everyone had a hobby or passion they could turn to for its healing powers. Something that allows them to disengage from the thorns and thickets of their earthly life and to catch a glimpse of the joy promised by God. Yes, I recognize that many do not believe in the God of the Bible, but many of those non-Christians acknowledge some spiritual connection to nature, the universe, or humanity in general. Knowing that they turn towards their spiritual beliefs gives me hope. One of my recurring prayers is that many of those who are “spiritual” will someday come to know and understand it was the God of all who placed that sense of spirituality within them. Unfortunately, even Christians like me can grow to idolize our hobbies to the extent that we worship the creation rather than the Creator who designed them for our pleasure. With that idolatry caution out of the way, today I wish to concentrate on the healing and meditative powers of fly fishing, a simple and obscure hobby.

Baker Reservoir Wash Out

Looking southwest towards the Baker Reservoir impoundment. The whole reservoir was murky with extremely low visibility, and lots of flotsam and suspended debris.

Most fly anglers I know have some level of passion for the sport. It is not just the act of fishing with a fly, but everything that encompasses the sport. Fly fishing is a historically rich sport, dating all the way back to the 2^nd Century Roman Empire as described in many sources (Fly Dreamers/Fly Fishing History and Wikipedia/Fly Fishing to name two). Ironically, there are a few who have specific passions for fly fishing but for whom fishing is not the main thing. Some relish the history, and are collectors of rods, reels, and flies as they survived over the centuries. Others focus all their energy on fly tying, creating works of art that will never be fished. There are conservancies that purchase land on which productive trout streams reside (usually acquired from private farms and ranches) in order to protect and improve both the species and its environment. Many are rod builders whose creations can also be considered works of art. And there are those whose passion is to simply cast a fly line, competing in fly casting contests around the world (see this video of the 2019 World Fly Fishing Championships in San Francisco).