When my wife asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I went outside to my “Man Cave” and did an inventory. I’m guessing that a lot of folks don’t have the luck to have some 500 square feet to store their outdoor gear, but I was fortunate enough to somehow get the dedicated space. And a quick cataloging of my gear really made me appreciate how really lucky I am.

Standing on the dock, waiting for my buddy Steve to get the boat trailer parked, I grabbed my little ultralight rod out of the skiff, and cast a little brass spinner into Coffinbury Lake. I really hadn’t used the rod for over a year, and figured I’d best try to get a little of the line wet before we started trolling. After just a couple of winds on the tiny reel, I got a jolt that darn near pulled the rod out of my hand and would have easily snapped the four-pound test if my drag hadn’t been set just a tad loose!

Rounding the bend in the river, I could see that the hole I had targeted was unoccupied. My favorite stream could get a little crowded during the October run and having the little pocket all to myself gave me a pretty good chance at success. While I was more than happy with the two small silvers I had taken the day before in a drift just upstream, the guy fishing the beat just below me had hooked, and lost, several really big fish. Now that I had that piece of real estate to myself, I figured my chances of landing a bragging-size fish were pretty good!

The drone of the little outboard was putting me to sleep. Getting up way before light had cost me some rest that my old body really needed. I would have dozed off if my knees weren’t screaming at me. They were so cramped up after hours of trolling up and down in Steve’s tiny boat that they weren’t about to let the rest of my body escape from the tedium of yet another fishless day!

The great beast stirred. Lifting off the murky bottom, he slowly swept his monstrous tail.  The bright sun blazed as he drew to the surface, rising four fathoms. There was no fear in his prehistoric brain, just a little confusion. It had been decades since there was anything in his domain that could offer a challenge. Of all the creatures that the wide waters hid, he was dominant.

Pocket Water!” exclaimed my buddy, Tom, as he pulled the pickup onto a turnout in the deep woods. From his obvious excitement, he thought this was a great fishing opportunity. He swung open his door and his Border collie, Sunny, flew out into the forest.

While recovering from a lovely case of English flu that my wife thoughtfully smuggled through customs for me  (I was hoping for an antique 5-weight Hardy rod!), I found I had plenty of time to work through a pile of books I had collected. Among them was a new book that my RV Life editor had sent down for me to review. I really hadn’t read much of the author’s work, but John Bailey’s book, 50 Fish to Catch In Your Lifetime, has an interesting premise.

After a month of copious reading, watching instructional videos and practicing in the yard, I decided it was time to try out my Spey casting technique for real. I loaded up my top of the line, Loomis 12-foot Spey rod (so new it still had the sticker on the handle!) and used the sunny afternoon to enjoy the beach and cast into the surf for the big perch that run in the spring. Fresh fish for Easter dinner!

Late May in Berkeley, when the sun was warming up the sleeping porch, we’d take a break from the stress of finals, and year-end duties, and head inland toward the Yuba River.