The headwaters of the San Joaquin are a delightful contrast to the muddy river that flows into the San Joaquin - Sacramento Delta. From its source near Mammoth Lakes and Devil's Postpile National Monument, to its first dam at Mammoth Pool, the upper San Joaquin is a wild and beautiful wilderness trout stream. It is completely unreachable by road and the only access is by horseback or by foot. The San Joaquin Canyon is several thousand feet deep and hiking both down in and back up is a serious hike. My wife Mary and I had spent several days camping ...
Maybe it's wishful thinking, but I do believe I'm seeing early signs of fall.
Regrettably, I have rekindled an old relationship.
No doubt most of you recall the hit song "It's Not Easy Being Green", by that famous star, Kermit the Frog. Believe it or not, the very first Earth Day took place 41 years ago in 1970. A lot of water has flowed over the dams since then and hundreds of millions of people all over the world are now more conscious of our environment. O.K. you might ask? What that got to do with me? In the decades since 1970, being green took on an entirely new and different meaning than simply being the color of a ...
Over the years, I've been surprised more than once by a fish willing to bite at the strangest moments.
Saturday morning when I couldn't sleep past 6:30, I decided to head east because even though the water would be high - still - and there would be a ton of people, I hate excuses.
One of the neat fringe benefits of writing an outdoors column is the responses I get from my readers. Thank you to all those folks who had suggestions for me on how to get the stuck musket ball out of my muzzleloader. Thanks too, are in order to all the folks who write or email me with observations and suggestions on my columns.
People who know that I like to fish often assume that the fish are always jumping in my boat.
Manteca's Jacob Gomes picked up his third victory of the season and reclaimed the SPEARS SRL Southwest Tour Series championship lead last Saturday night in the "Century Boatland 115" in front of a capacity crowd at Rocky Mountain Raceways just outside of Salt Lake City, Utah.
Yesterday started innocent enough.
A couple of weeks ago, I took my nephew Jacob Barr with me to introduce him to black powder shooting. We set up some targets and got the muzzle loading musket out of its case. I explained each step to Jacob as we got ready to shoot. Pour the scoop of black powder down the barrel of the musket, then place the cloth patch under the lead musket ball and ram it snugly down the barrel with the wooden ramrod. Then you place the percussion cap on the nipple, cock the hammer, aim, squeeze the trigger and wait for the ...
I see a lot of anglers opting to wear flip flops while out fishing.
If you don't think the San Francisco Giants just became a better club by acquiring the services of National League All-Star outfielder Carlos Beltran, you are likely a hater, or worse, a Dodgers fan.
There was a brief moment where I actually contemplated what we would do if the members of the National Football League were unable to reach common ground with the collective bargaining agreement.
Before I could completely recover from the two drives, two boat rides and two flights that returned me to the Central Valley, plus the general melancholy that accompanies the departure from Alaska, I was en route to New York City, the antithesis of dense sprawling nature, for a wedding.
I first became addicted to archeology in the summer of 1948. I was a youngster camping along the headwaters of the Mokelumne River with my parents. One morning I knelt down to clear away some rocks on the ground so that I could play marbles, when one of the rocks caught my eye. Upon closer examination, I discovered that my "rock" was really an Indian arrowhead made of shiny black obsidian! I was hooked on archeology from that point on. Collecting arrowheads became a family obsession. We eventually assembled a pretty significant collection of artifacts in our Indian Room.
Like a lot of those reading this, I used to take every fish home to be cooked up for dinner. After a while, I got tired of having to clean fish after a long day of fishing so I just threw them back. Once I started tournament fishing, I'd always throw them back in hopes of catching them again during a tournament.
We anglers are a fortunate bunch. We belong to a brotherhood and sisterhood of helpful gregarious souls who are almost always willing to chat with a stranger and share local fishing information. The past week, I've found myself out in Salt Lake City, accompanying my wife at a genealogy conference. Usually my trips to the Salt Lake area are in warmer weather without snow on the ground. On an ordinary trip, I'll end up fishing the either Provo River or the Green River for a couple days, but this trip I figured it would be too cold and ...
Fishing in the winter is tough.