Vol. 1, Issue 2: “The No Trout Issue”

Click on the cover to view Blood Knot Magazine’s second issue

Vol. 1, Issue 1: “The Military Issue”

Click on the cover to view Blood Knot Magazine’s debut issue

I was introduced to Henry when he stayed at a guest ranch I guided for in Colorado, and he insisted I call him Hank because it was less formal that way.  Hank was in his early 80’s and was visiting from the Detroit area with his daughter’s family. He had a definitive twinkle in his eyes like he knew something you didn’t, and his arms, though thin, were like many thick cables wrapped together.  He had worked for 30 years as a school bus mechanic, and from his handshake I knew he was still a chronic tinkerer.  But because Hank was quiet and spent most of his time reading books and soaking up the bright mountain sun, I was surprised to see he had signed up for fly fishing.   

We arranged our fishing trip over eggs and toast, and I was shocked to learn Hank had never fished before.  I told him surely everyone has been fishing at least a time or two, but no, he had assured me, he hadn’t, and figured it was something he better try before it was too late.  Not only that, he thought it best to try fly fishing since it was the most beautiful of all fishing pursuits.  I couldn’t argue with that of course, and we commenced to planning our outing.    

I tried thinking of some spots that would yield fish for a beginner without a long walk in, but Hank said he could walk a decent distance, so I decided on a high mountain lake just west of the ranch.  It was a large manmade reservoir with some of the most serene landscape in all of the state.  The north side was blanketed with lodge pole pine thick enough to hide the many moose in the area, and it had a small inlet where black bears were often seen.  It was full of west slope cutthroat, and some say grayling, though I had never spotted any.  It was a finicky piece of water too.  It didn’t often yield many fish, but the ones it did were beefy and brilliant in color.  

This lake was known for its glasslike surface, and so it was as we arrived.  I had learned on the drive that Hank’s wife had died some years before of cancer, and that he himself had the disease now.  His best guess was that this would be the last significant trip of his life.  It was a heavy moment, but Hank had that gift of reassurance that left me in awe of both his acceptance and his courage. It wasn’t an uncomfortable moment at all.

We hiked to the northwest side of the reservoir. Hank was laboring a bit, but he was determined and had his heart set. We settled ourselves near the dam and I started to tie up his rig.  I explained every piece to him because I figured someone with his meticulousness might like that, and he did.  I chose a double fly rig, and both flies sank with an indicator about seven feet above them.  I then taught him a roll cast so that he could cast by himself, and all the while he looked around, awestruck by Colorado’s beauty.   

It can get a little hairy for a guide helping a first time guest understand when to set on a fish, and so I explained at length the principle of the set and what it would look like, and Hank assured me he’d be on top of things as best he could.

I’ve gotten myself in the habit of not yelling “set” until it’s obvious the guest needs more direction, but when the indicator suddenly dunked, Hank remained completely motionless. The indicator bobbed back up, and still he

THIS WOULD BE THE LAST SIGNIFICANT TRIP OF HIS LIFE

didn’t acknowledge that anything had happened.  I stared at him a minute and, frankly, I was a little concerned.  Then, at the very corners of his mouth, a smile began to form.  It got large and toothy before a heavy belly laugh erupted.  He looked at me sheepishly and said, “I guess that’s why you explained the set so precisely?”  I laughed back and knew we were going to have fun that morning. 
 

A few moments later the indicator twitched again and Hank set up on it like a rock star.  His rod flexed and the reel screamed and he had a fight on his hands.  His eyes were wide and bright, and at first he held on tight before I promised him that relaxing was the better strategy.    At his side, I coached him to let it run, and now, “Reel, reel, reel!”
 
His leathery hands kept that death grip on the cork handle.  I could tell he wanted to laugh, but he was determined not to fail.  Soon he got the feel of the fray and started to tune in to the movements of the fish like an old timing belt, and after a few moments the fish was in the net—eighteen inches of pristine, wild cutthroat bronzed for the ladies.  It’s underbelly a sunset orange, and the slash on the throat to give it the name was bright and flawless.  I won’t lie; it was a perfect moment in time.  

Hank took out his own hook and held his fish.  After looking it over from every angle he released it gingerly, and expertly.  He then sat down on a rock and just soaked it all in.  He exhaled deeply and laughed. We took a few minutes to unwind and decided to go again, and Hank caught four more fish over the next few hours. None were as big or as brilliant as the first, but he landed each one more deftly than the last. We had ourselves a bona fide fly fisherman on our hands.  

By eleven thirty we were on our way back.  Hank was pretty tuckered out and his pace was slower, but his smile was bright.  He said he should have taken this up a long time ago, and that I was lucky to be so young and have so much time.  He didn’t say any of this regretfully, and that’s why his words have stuck with me for so long.  He had lived his life on his terms, at least as much as anyone could.  

Any guide will tell you the times before and after fishing are often the most important, and on our drive back for lunch at the ranch, Hank talked about his family and some of the higher moments in his life.  And when he sat down to eat and told the family about his adventure, he was the hero again, if even just for a short time, and the rest of the men clapped him on the back for a job well done. 

Hank was happy and content over his last few days with us at the ranch.  I guess wondering if you can do something and finding out you can is a kick at any age.  I don’t know what happened to Hank after he left, but my hope is that he was able to tell that fish story many more times.  Hell, maybe he even got to fish again.  Before they drove off, Hank shook my hand firmly and added his left hand halfway up my arm and squeezed me python-like.  I knew he was as sincerely thankful to me as I was to him.

At Blood Knot Magazine, we’re excited about finding our own way and focusing on our own unique approach. We’re not interested in similarity, overlap, or following in someone else’s footsteps.
Tom, if you’re out there, our using “Emergers” was entirely coincidental and we apologize for the mix-up. I have the greatest respect for you and your publication, and it is our wish to preserve The Drake and its originality. 

We will correct for this mistake on our website immediately, and those changes will be further reflected in our next issue. 

Sincerely, 

Matt Coudayre

There’s nothing like waking up at 4:30am after a restless night’s sleep in anticipation of a day filled with heart throbbing saltwater fly fishing action.  Feverishly stumbling out of bed to grab a cup of coffee, you drive like Burt Reynolds to the boat ramp and load up your gear.  Then it’s a short run at a cool 45 mph, in only a couple feet of water, to search out tailing reds, pelagic torpedoes, finicky pompano, or perhaps even giant tarpon.  Oddly enough, the other boats all seem to be passing in the opposite direction, and most are offshore charter boats loaded to capacity with more beer and Dramamine than tackle. You put up your hand to salute as you cross in each other’s wake, chuckling to yourself a bit, but it’s all just part of the local flavor.  

Soon you reach the back country and begin scanning the horizon to locate a promising spot and formulate an approach. From a poling platform, you quietly slide the boat into position:  “Look, over there!” you say, pointing out a school of feeding reds to your buddy who’s standing off the bow.  “Drop it right out in front of ‘em.” Then it’s strip, strip, pause…strip, strip, pause…Fish on!  This is saltwater fly fishing—the basis for many an obsessed angler. 

I read somewhere that saltwater is the last frontier for fly fishermen.  While that sounds very poetic and everything, I think it’s safe to say that ship has sailed.  Lefty and his crew charted those waters long years ago.  A far more accurate statement would be to say, sadly, saltwater is the last frontier for some fly fishermen.   

I give full credit to all the dedicated anglers out there who passionately stalk wary trout season after season on heavily pressured streams—that said, I find that fly fishing enthusiasts often place needless limits on the application and query of this sport.  In my experience, fly fishing by nature begs to be multidimensional.  

If you ever hope to be a well rounded angler, you must be willing to break through the stigmatic routine.  Ever caught a 30lb carp on a fly rod?  How about an 8lb largemouth?  What about slab sized bream or even catfish?  With every new species and venue, you find a different and exciting challenge.  

One of the best examples for me is fly fishing in saltwater.  The gear and tactics always seem to break the rules of convention once the water turns hot and salty.  Trade out those prized bamboo rods and silk lines for a 10wt stick of rebar, forget the trout net, basket creel, cute pocket vest, neoprene waders, and boxes of size 14 – 20’s.  No dinky line hangers either—stout drag systems are mandatory to withstand the abuse of fish capable of getting into backing in a matter of seconds. 

Saltwater is a real break from the routine, not to mention a shot-in-the-arm adrenaline rush every bug slinging junky

“Seek refuge in the unconventional.”

should attempt at least once.  But just a word of warning: saltwater can be crazy addictive.  Once you get a taste of it, you might have better luck eating just one Lay’s Potato Chip.   

Just a few weekends back, I was down at Mobile Bay, AL for the annual Dauphin Island Race.  As usual, I was packing my 4pc inshore rod.  With high hopes of squeezing in a little fly fishing action, much to my dismay, a huge storm system moved in and the wind made it difficult to stand upright—casting would be nearly impossible. In the middle of the night, once the storm passed, a buddy of mine walks out to the dock at about 2:00am and knocks on the forward cabin hatch of the boat to wake me—“Hey man, fish are out here smacking glass minnows under the lights around the dock.  Grab your rod!” And why the heck would he do this without fear of getting punched in the face for it?  Because he knew the depth of the obsession; he knew I’d rather be fly fishing than sleeping.

The point is, as much as I love fly fishing, it surprises me how with so many wonderful ways to pursue the sport, it remains stubbornly synonymous with mountain streams, trout, and dry flies.  The stigma is so deeply entrenched that most people outside of our sport don’t even realize fly fishing can be applicable in any other way.  It doesn’t help that ideologues tout their traditionalism in hopes of compelling newcomers to adopt their narrow minded view—namely snubbing certain styles, venues, gear, or species. “Real fly fishermen don’t use sinking lines, weighted flies, or graphite rods”—they might say.

While I can appreciate the lofty dogma, the truth of the matter is “all the romance of trout fishing exists in the mind of the angler and is in no way shared by the fish.”* Any limits on the application of fly fishing are your own unfortunate delusion.  Those who can successfully target fish of any species, in any condition, at any time of year are the real purists in my book.  Leave anything that detracts from this essence to the elitist yuppies.

Seek refuge in the unconventional. Saltwater isn’t the last frontier for fly fishing, but it might be for you.  When the water turns hot and salty, so does the action!  I have a bloodline running down my backbone and my beard has salt crystals forming in it. Some of the hooks in my box still have a barb and I’m not above chumming while casting flies to spanish and sharks.  I throw sinking lines and flies that might otherwise be used as an anchor for small craft.  I’ve probably broken all the rules and you know something?  I’m looking for new rules to break, because that’s what makes a hot and salty fly fisherman. 

* Quoted from Harold F. Blaisdell

Jazz & Fly Fishing has joined two seemingly different passions for a concept that shouldn’t make sense, and wouldn’t if it weren’t for this quartet’s creative force. On and off the water, their humor, unequivocal talent, and occasional idiocy jazzes up fly fishing. They’ve recently completed their first tour, and already have a TV show and a second upcoming album in the making. Band mates Joona Toivanen and Håvard Stubø helped us make sense of it all.

Alright, which one of you four is posing as a fly fisherman so not to get tossed from the band?
Joona: Ok, I did that. They made me do it!
Håvard: Actually, the truth is that none of us are posers. I was the last one recruited, and I guess the process was very boy band-like. If I should try to guess why they chose me, I´d say it was because they needed a guy who could fly fish well, could play jazz guitar well, and was Norwegian—they wanted a piece of the Norwegian fishing and concert scene. There really aren´t too many others that meet these specifications!

Håvard, how’d they find you?
Håvard: Joona sent me an e-mail three or four years ago on MySpace. He said something about putting together a band of fly fishing jazz musicians and touring the world, and I said, “Great!” Then nothing happened, and to be honest I forgot about the whole thing. A couple of  years later, Joona sent me another e-mail saying he’d hooked up with a TV company in Finland interested in doing a documentary series about a fly fishing jazz band. I said, “Great!” This time it turned out to be the real thing.

A TV show?
Joona: I’d been talking about a fly fishing jazz band to a couple of friends, and to my surprise, one of my fishing mates told me he’d heard about another guy in Finland talking about combining jazz and fly fishing. I got the guy’s number and gave him a call just to hear if he was stealing my idea or what. It turned out he was a film producer whose passions in life were jazz and fly fishing. The rest is history!

Six billion people on the planet, and you guys are the only fly fishing jazz band. Is this genius achievement or the byproduct of a grave marketing blunder?
Håvard: Sometimes it feels like a genius achievement. And sometimes it feels like a grave marketing blunder. People´s reactions are always divided—either they dig it immediately, or they get the facial expression of a jelly fish when we explain what we´re trying to do.

What are you trying to do?
Joona: Reach the small, but wonderful crowd of fly fishing jazz fans. We’ve maybe found twenty of those on the globe so far. That almost fills a jazz club, so it’s nothing you should consider doing for a living. But the crazy aspect of the project has appealed to more than just the jazz and fishing nerds, and that’s our strength. The question is: is the world big enough for Jazz & Fly Fishing?

"Sometimes it feels like a grave marketing blunder."

Do you guys have other jobs?
Joona: Jazz and Fly Fishing doesn’t—yet—bring much bread to the family table so we work on other projects too, and we all play in several bands. You want to get inspired by different people, play different types of music and so on. Me and Fredrik also teach music. Tapani just graduated with his Masters and he’s working with computer programming to develop a kind of a metering device—a chair that meters your heart beat from the butt.

Help us fill in the gap—how does fly fishing influence your music, and your music influence your fly fishing?
Joona: Fly fishing makes hands sore and stiffens the fingers—that makes me play fewer notes, but only the most important ones. Too few musicians have experienced what cold water and a week of casting do for your musical expression! On the other hand, jazz music has taught me to be creative and open to new ideas. Both jazz and fly fishing are really about improvising. You learn the skills and then just go where the music, or trout, takes you.
Håvard: When we´re touring, they intertwine completely. Sometimes, especially when we get really beat, I mix up whether we´re going fishing or playing. It´s like that weird state when you´re half asleep and everything gets mixed.  For me personally, playing jazz music and fly fishing are two sides of the same coin—two strange, totally pointless human activities that pretty much make up the meaning of life for me. Well, there are fortunately a couple of other things that give my life meaning as well.

You guys more likely to wear tweed on the water or on stage?
Håvard: Tweed seems a little over the top… None of us have received knighthood, yet.  
Joona: At first the producer’s idea about suit jackets when fishing sounded really silly. We tried it, and at least I fell totally in love with it. A wool jacket adjusts to body temperature, works as a fly drying patch, has big pockets for fly boxes, and looks good! And I can use the same jacket on stage. I also dig old fashion hats—they’re both jazzy and work perfectly on fishing trips. Now I’m just dreaming of straight waist-long waders and black leather wading shoes, something to match the hat and the jacket with.
Håvard: He [the producer] also thought it would set us apart from other fly fishing productions, where, according to him, “the guys look like they´re in the army or something with all their sponsor uniforms.”

What fly fishing gear makes it up on stage?
Håvard: Well, I tried using the fly rod as a slide, you know, bottle-neck stuff, on our song “Lahppoluobbal” at a gig in Finland. It didn´t work. Fred sometimes wears his pin-on reel with forceps and everything on stage—he forgets to take them off his suit jacket. These things are bound to happen when your mind starts to mix jazz and fly fishing.

How’s the new album shaping up?
Håvard: It´s been about two months since we recorded it, and at this stage I´m usually not too enthusiastic about a recording. Typically, I´m very excited about a new recording during the first few days, followed by a long period where I think it sounds horrible. Finally, I sort of start liking it again, or at least I stop despising how I sound. With this one, however, I´ve liked it all along. I guess this is either a very good or a very bad sign…

Give us an encore—where’s the greater value: an expensive instrument or a top shelf fly rod?
Håvard: An expensive instrument, no doubt. I love exotic fly rods, but even the pretty cheap ones are fabulous these day. Well, some of them, anyway. The same can’t be said about musical instruments… With some very few exceptions, cheap instruments are crap, and make you sound like a clown.

A special one-track preview from their upcoming album:

Visit jazzandflyfishing.com for creative videos, updates, and more

First, there’s the two-tone color scheme that changes from sky blue to pale orange halfway down its 105’ length. The color change is more than aesthetic because, according to Hardy, it coincides with the ideal position for making that last shoot on long casts. A clever idea, even if I can’t say I felt the correspondence when casting with their 4-wt. line (it’s probably more evident with their heavier lines). Either way, the two-tone’s rad, but I’m fairly certain most fly anglers rely on feel more than sight to determine when to shoot.

The Mach II contains less visible, non-traditional features as well. A new braided core reduced the annoying coils of line memory on a mid-arbor reel. And then there’s the taper—Hardy recognized that the intended application and physics of a line passing through a 10’ 8-wt. rod are a far cry from dropping dries from 20 feet with a 3-wt. The result of this insight: line weights 3-5 have a shorter head length than the 6-, 7-, and 8-weight lines. Additionally, all weights have an elongated rear taper, designed to improve flight stability (read, accuracy) and shootability.

On paper then, the Hardy Mach II line should deliver easy shooting, smooth turnover, and precise control. Basically, it should be an epic fly line….and it is. But maybe this review still hasn’t given the line the respect it deserves?

While I was doing research for an article, I met up with two great guides out of Mammoth, California, and fished with

them on their day off. Guide One mentioned early in the day that Guide Two was the best caster he knows, which I saw for myself was no exaggeration. Later in the day, Guide Two happened to grab my rod out of the boat when the fish began rising. He took up a spot 20 feet downriver from me, and after three false casts I heard him mummer to himself, “Wow!”

He laid out his cast, then shouted to me, “Is this line…?” naming a line from a competing manufacturer. I told him it was the Hardy Mach II. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself because I had the very same reaction—literally saying, “Wow!”—when I first cast the line. You know it’s good when a guide won’t give you back your Mach II-equipped rod for most of the afternoon.

You likely won’t find the Hardy Mach II line in fly shops in the States (or even on Hardy’s website), but you can easily acquire it new on eBay for $34.95 shipped.

Check them out at fly.hardyfishing.com

If you’ve ever lifted a fishing publication from the glossy rowed stacks of lesser pursuits, there stands a good chance that at least one of them has transfixed your gaze with photographs shot by Brian Grossenbacher. Fly Rod and Reel, Fly Fisherman, American Angler and The Drake are among the many distinguished trout pornographers who have displayed Grossenbacher’s inspiring images. 

My first attempts at contacting the well-known photographer floundered under the weight of his tropical flight itinerary. From the Bahamas to Brazil, Grossenbacher’s lifestyle was quickly becoming all-too apparent––easing me into a state of jealous curiosity from which I have yet to return. The following interview is a glimpse into the life of a man who’s cultivated a dynamic career and autonomous lifestyle from the seeds of simple passion. 

Favorite camera: Nikon D 700           
Favorite rod: Orvis Helios 990
Favorite on-the-water beverage: PBR in a bottle.

BK: Tell me a bit about yourself. 

BG: I began guiding in 1992 and continue on a limited basis to this day.  I started taking photos in 2005.  I’m embarrassed to say that my formal education in photography came from the instruction booklet with my first camera. 

BK: Ha! I’m sure you’re not the only one! Were you a fisherman, photographer or an author first? 

BG: I grew up fishing with my dad and grandfathers, and then began guiding and tying flies commercially while in graduate school.  I never set out to be creative in fly fishing…I just wanted to make a living doing it.  Guiding was my primary source of income for almost 15 years before I even owned a decent camera.  I did write a book in 1995—a beginner’s guide to tying flies.  The book sold well (60,000 copies) but I didn’t make much money—I did a terrible job of negotiating.  The second book, Fly Fishing Montana, got me into photography by necessity, not by choice.  When we received the photo budget for the Montana book we quickly realized that we didn’t have enough money to buy the images from professional photographers, but we did have just enough to buy a camera (Nikon D70) and two lenses (Nikon 18-70, and 70-300).  During the process of getting the images for the book, I discovered a true passion for photography.  By the time the book was published, I already had several images published including a few covers.

BK: That’s amazing how you fell into it. What tactics or methods do you implore during your photography? And how would you describe that style? 

BG: My style leans towards a photojournalistic approach.  I stay out of the way and let things happen.  When the situation does happen, it’s my job to capture that moment with the camera.  

BK: Describe what black and white photography means to you? 

BG: Black and white is the purest form of photography.  When a photo stands out in the absence of color you know that you have nailed the composition, lighting and subject matter.

BK: How do you feel about digital manipulation and to what extent do you use it? 

BG: I use very little digital manipulation.  I try to remain true to what film photographers could do in the dark room.  I disagree with manipulating the subject matter of a photograph—adding something that wasn’t there, combining two images to form one, etc. To me, the true challenge and reward of photography comes from capturing the moment within the camera.

Click to enlarge

BK: I can appreciate that. How and when did you first gain recognition as a photographer? 

BG: Tom Bie featured me with six other photographers in the 2006 issue of The Drake for a piece called “7 Shooters”.  Originally, the story was entitled “6 Shooters”, but at the last minute Tom decided to add me as the seventh and in doing so, killed a perfectly good title.

BK: Yeah, you did wreck a pretty good title! Can you remember the first photo you took that made you go WOW? 

BG: Yes and I almost didn’t even take the photo at all.  I was guiding a guy on a small stream in Montana during a prolific baetis hatch.  I was trying to coach him into a pod of rising fish and he was struggling—seriously falling apart at the seams.  Fish were rising all around him yet suddenly he couldn’t cast more than ten feet.  I decided to give him some time to himself and I walked back to my truck and got my camera.  When I came back he had rediscovered his cast and the bugs were coming off thick as ever, and I took a shot with the flies in focus in the foreground, and the angler silhouetted and out of focus in the background.  He didn’t even know I was there.  It is still one of my favorite shots.

Click to enlarge

BK: Do you have a favorite shot of someone else’s? 

BG: I love Val Atkinson’s shot of the guys looking through the cracks in the bridge for fish (click here to view).  You can see the excitement in their body language…like little kids.  The shot is unique, genuine, and it tells a story. 

BK: Where would you like to see your career in the fishing industry move from here? 

BG: I’d like to shoot more commercial jobs. I enjoy the challenge of capturing unique, iconic images that can build a brand with the added difficulty of pulling it off in a limited time period. I just accomplished a major goal by shooting the Simms catalog.  As soon as I started taking photos on my own, I wanted to shoot for Simms.  I think their catalog has the perfect blend of action, art and authenticity. It was quite an honor to be asked to shoot their catalog as they have used some outstanding photographers in the past.

BK: Love their catalogue. Describe a day in your professional life? 

BG: My professional life has two simple components—taking photos and processing them.  I shoot quite a bit in Montana, but in the winter I travel extensively.  I just came back from a week in the Bahamas shooting images for Bair’s Lodge, and two weeks before that I was in Brazil shooting Peacock bass.  In another two weeks, I’ll be in Argentina and after that Panama.  While on location I have cameras in my hands all day.  I rarely fish, and yet it still feels like I’m fishing vicariously.  After each trip, I’ll spend a minimum of a week in the office sorting, processing, key wording each image and then sending them out to interested parties.  Although mundane, it doesn’t seem like work to me.  I like the excitement of sending out the final product to editors, art directors, lodge owners, friends, etc. and awaiting their response. 

BK: It wouldn’t seem like work to me either! What types of assignments are you most attracted to?  

BG: Obviously fishing, but really anything in the outdoor world.  I just did a shoot for Oboz Footwear—a trail running and hiking boot company.  We hiked over 20 miles in two days; which isn’t a lot except that I was carrying a ton of gear.  We had a gaggle of models—all local trail runners and hikers with high energy and excellent endurance.  It was a challenge keeping up with them, but the shoot was a blast. 

I have been shooting quite a bit of bird hunting lately.  Similar to fishing, I get just as excited when I hear the whistle of wings overhead and the ducks and geese drop into the decoys, even though I have a camera in my hands rather than a gun.

BK: You’ve shot all over the world—leave us with this: where’s your perfect day on the water?  

BG: Drifting down the Yellowstone during hopper season with my wife and two daughters. 

Brian currently lives in Bozeman, Montana, with his wife, two kids and too many animals to count.

To see more of Brian Grossenbacher’s photography, please visit Grossenbacherphoto.com

The natural colors and topography of the regional park in which LNL rests provide a welcome relief to the endless neutral-toned neighborhoods and shopping centers surrounding it. At first glance, the lake looks like a normal municipal lake, home to the usual warm-water suspects: bass, catfish, crappie, bluegill. In the summer, that’s exactly what it is. But in winter…well, winter is a whole other story. Between November and April each year, LNL stocks nearly 50,000 lbs. of privately farmed rainbow trout. This number does NOT equate to 50,000 fish (i.e., one-pounders). Every other week, the lake gets reinfused with a few thousand pounds of pink-sided beauties that average 3-5 lbs and get up to 15-lb trophy fish. 

The equation seems simple: stock large, gorgeous fish in a privately run county-owned lake, sit back and watch the cash roll in. I’m sure Bobbie Mendoza, owner of the lake’s fishing operation, certainly wishes that were true, but her story and the lake’s have been nothing short of a rollercoaster ride. 

Beginning in 1994, Bobbie, her then-husband, and a few business partners set out to establish a premiere fishery (trout in the winter; bass, cats, et al. in the summer) in the heart of suburban Orange County. After several years, operations were going successfully enough for Bobbie and her husband to buy out the partners and maintain the fishery as a family-run business. Divorce resulted in Bobbie being the sole proprietor of the fishery, and the fishery being the sole source of income for Bobbie and her children. But, LNL weathered the transition, and Bobbie pushed on successfully. About three years ago, LNL was at the peak of its game. Huge, beautiful, aggressive, hook-jawed rainbows were arriving from Utah to stock the lake, clear water made small midge fly fishing unstoppable, and the lake was breeding a whole community of fly fishing enthusiasts. Then, our friendly state government decided to step in. 

While the fishery was growing, so were the planned suburban communities around the lake. Million-dollar homes now line the ridge, staring down upon the lake like gargoyles perched atop a castle wall. These expensive homes equal high tax revenue for the county and state. So, when homeowners complained about the lake’s aeration system being too noisy (the aerators were basically four jet engines mixing oxygen into the lake to meet state’s criteria for dissolved oxygen (DO) levels), the state wisely brought both sides to the table to arrange an agreeable compromise. Yeah, right. The government required Bobbie to remove the entire aeration system and put in a new system at her own expense, which of course led to more problems. The new system pumps air into the bottom of the lake, which is quiet, but as it bubbles to the surface it stirs up lake-bottom sediment. Water clarity took a nose dive. 

The poor visibility effectively killed small-bug nymph fishing on the lake. Now, the fish have to rely more on smell than sight to find a meal; fine for bait casters, but a majorsetback for fly fishermen – unless you want to start rubbing garlic on your pheasant tails. 

And the state wasn’t done yet. For years, Bobbie had been trucking in unique rainbows from a farm in Utah. These fish were truly rare beauties because the owner of the farm had devised a miraculous method for sterilizing the trout without interfering with their spawning instinct and the physiological changes that accompany it. The result: aggressive fighting, beautifully colored ‘bows with the males sporting the distinctive hook jaws of wild fish. They were still the bread and butter of LNL….until the state decided to step in once again – this time for whirling disease. 

Whirling disease is a vicious parasite that attacks young trout, spreads easily, and can devastate an entire watershed or fishery. The parasite imbeds itself in the cartilage and bones of young fish before that cartilage hardens as the fish mature. Once infected, the parasite causes neurological damage and skeletal deformities (often causing the fish to swim in circles – whirl). Ninety percent of young fish die, and the few that survive to adulthood have significant skeletal deformation. Why then did the state decide to do tests on pristine adults caught in LNL? Why did they throw their test samples into a dirty slop bucket (not exactly sterile and scientific) for shipment upstate, where the samples were tested behind closed doors? Why wouldn’t the state trust Utah’s test results of the farm where the fish are raised? Why wasn’t there any sign of whirling disease among the juvenile fish at the farm? The state offered Bobbie no good answers to any of these questions, but they did have two things to say: we can’t double check the results because the tests are too expensive, and no more Utah hook jaws. Bobbie now stocks large, beautiful rainbows from a farm in Northern California, which are still thoroughly impressive fish, but to this day she speaks fondly and with deep nostalgia of her bygone beauties. 

Though the luster of Laguna Niguel Lake has diminished in recent years, the lake still offers the opportunity for a unique experience and the promise of big fish. Heck, in what other metropolis can you catch trout more reminiscent of Sitka than suburbia? But leave the little bugs at home; you’ll want a strong stick, sinking line, and big, bright streamers. If your family doesn’t share the same passion for fishing, that’s not a problem. The park surrounding LNL is a hub for family activities with popular walking trails, playgrounds, fields, and picnic areas. And of course the shopping centers around park offer countless retailers, restaurants, and movie theaters. 

Urban expansion has reached the point that fishable waters often require lengthy drives to the city’s distant outskirts. Aware of this trend, a regular suburban family set out to create a world-class fishery in the heart of SoCal’s urban sprawl. Through commitment and perseverance, they realized their vision, creating a mecca where wild-like trophy trout stalked the shallows, bending rods and blowing through backing. Despite meddling by the powers that be, Bobbie Mendoza and LNL have blazed a trail and shown the extraordinary potential for incorporating quality fishing back into the urban environment. 

Check out LNL at www.lagunaniguellake.com.