Cave's Branch - Creatures in the Night

I've always wanted to photograph wild snakes in a tropical jungle. And knowing we were headed for a week at Cave's Branch, I knew I'd have some opportunities. The only 'rule' Ash had was that I couldn't catch and play with any of them. 'Play' is a relative term though, isn't it :)

I went out on my own in the evenings, and ended up finding five different species. I was really hoping to come across a wild boa constrictor, but alas, none were to be found.

As I said before, you are IN the jungle there, and wildlife has free roam of the grounds. Rooms are screened though, so you can sleep comfortably once you get used to it. Our first night we had a Paca, or Gibnut as they are known in Belize, come strolling by our bedroom. Other nights included hearing something rather large cross the river below us and crash up the mountain face we were on, likely a Tapir (AKA Mountain Cow). Ashley woke we up one night thinking a jaguar was breathing outside our window, but it was just the howler monkeys off in the distance. We also heard something walking around behind our treehouse on my nightly snake walk, but never saw what it was.

Attached here are photos of a Pygmy Snail Sucking Snake, a beautiful, yet-to-be-identified, yellow and black snake (Edit: Now confirmed as a Blunt-Headed Tree Snake), a hummingbird in their botanical garden, a Cat-Eyed Snake, and a Kinkajou we came across hanging out over the treehouses.

Back To Belize - Cave's Branch

Since our honeymoon last year to Belize was abbreviated and we had some credit down there, we really wanted to give it another shot. Luckily the stars aligned, and we were fortunate enough to make it happen, and on the anniversary of our first honeymoon, we headed South, leaving the clouds and cold of Vermont behind for a while.

The first stop on our journey was Ian Anderson's Cave Branch. Deep in the heart of the jungle, the resort is one of the oldest 'eco' lodges in Belize, and pioneers of exploring the various cave systems and formal guide training. The grounds are amazing, and you are blended right into the surrounding jungle and all its critters. They offer an extensive list of 'adventures' you can choose from, ranging from caving trips, to horseback riding or sightseeing the Mayan ruins in Tikal, Guatemala.

We ended up in one of their Treehouses -- complete with a deck overlooking the jungle, private outdoor shower, and all the amenities one could possibly need.

The photos here show Ash enjoying a bottle of champaign at the main lodge with swim-up swimming pool, us in the waterfall cave tour, Ash climbing a waterfall, our treehouse, and Tikal.

Lovin' Leapin' Landlocks

Landlocked Salmon are a species worth spending some time chasing on the river. Genetically the same as Atlantic Salmon, they are just separated from the ocean and 'landlocked' to various streams and lake systems in the Northeast.

Fall is one of the best times to go after them, and spending a little time at some of my favorite places in Maine chasing Brookies and Landlocks is something I look forward to every September. After the Gaspe, more time on the river was just icing on the cake. The air is crisp, leaves are changing, and there's always a good chance you'll share the river with a moose or two, and of course, there's the leaping salmon on dry flies.

Tackling the Tundra

As we've gotten older, wiser (arguably) and yes, grayer, my father, brother and I try to do a hunting or fishing trip every year together. One of the To-Do's has been a self-guided caribou hunt in the Canadian Arctic. With Quebec just an hour away and over million caribou migrating across its northern regions, it was pretty easy to line up and we pulled the trigger this September.

I've only been up there on whitewater expeditions, and the terrain is amazing. You can see forever, and water seems to defy gravity -- standing water on mountain slopes is just plain weird, but the lichen makes it happen, trust me. We had good weather on the flight in, and I even managed about 15 minutes on the controls for my first flying lesson. Camp was to be located here, right in the middle of nowhere:

http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&q=56.34223,-71.87065&ll=56.34223,-71.87065&ie=UTF8&z=12&om=1.

We experienced every type of weather imaginable during the week from snow to hot and buggy, and logged a lot of miles following the maze of caribou trails across the lichen filled tundra. In the end, the caribou herd we were looking for had other travel plans, and the mass migration we were hoping for didn't happen. With some really hard work, long hours behind the binoculars, glassing from mountain ridge to mountain ridge, we made the most of it and managed some smaller bulls and cows to fill the freezer for the winter. We learned a lot, laughed a lot, argued a lot, sweated a lot and shivered a lot -- and are already ready for the next chance to repeat it all!

Vive Le Saumon

Long live the Salmon!!

If you're like me, you have a highlight memory reel of certain really special moments on the river. Moments that make you reflect on hard work, good times and bad, times with friends and family, lost loved ones who may have 'helped' a little and are smiling with you, the traditions of those who came before you on these rivers, and how awesome some places can be and how fortunate you are to be experiencing them. Moments that leave you grinning for days. This may well top them.

After days of no salmon and a little frustration building, I felt a distinct tug on the end of the line while swinging a tiny wet fly across the current. As the rod loaded, I proceeded to watch this guy live up to the Atlantic's reputation, and do a complete backflip out of the water.

The fight was on. Up and down the pool, more big jumps, maneuvering myself and the rod to steer him away from the wood and rocks that they seem to just know will cut your line. Eventually working him into the shallow water, I had flashbacks of last year in Alaska, loosing the biggest trout I've ever seen at my knees while trying to tail him, and the dreadful feeling of potentially repeating it. I learned a bit from that experience though, and came equipped with a catch and release net this time, and much to my relief, that's where he ended up.

I couldn't believe it. A large kype jawed male, showing some spawning colors -- exactly what I was fishing for. I was in awe. A few moments later, I just kneeled in the water, thanking the fish as I let his tail go and watch him swim away, continuing his quest upstream.

Later that afternoon a smaller brethren decided to take as well, and I landed my first Grilse (young salmon). Quite the day.

Atlantic Salmon are an incredible resource, worth conserving. The Atlantic Salmon Federation is at the forefront of those efforts, working to protect and restore Atlantic Salmon throughout their native habitats. Check out their website to find out how you can do your part.

Ode de Gaspe

I miss Alaska. The wilderness, the water, the solitude, the wildlife, the fish, the bugs, all of it. But, I live in VT. The next best thing relatively close by for me is the various wilderness areas in Northern Quebec. One being the Gaspe Peninsula and its famous Atlantic Salmon rivers.

Three years ago I made my maiden voyage to the Gaspe, and fortunately brought back memories of huge Atlantic Salmon after getting lucky on so many levels. So, I figured why not go back and see if the rivers would welcome me once again.

Due to the delicate nature of the Atlantic Salmon, AKA Salmo salar, or Silver Leaper, the rivers of the Gaspe are carefully managed to conserve this incredible resource. Rivers are governed by ZEC (Zone Exploitation Control) offices, which, depending on the river section, limit angler access, catch limits, etc via access lotteries conducted in the Fall and 48 hours prior. Some river zones have very limited access, while some zone are 'unlimited' and essentially open to the public for access. The zone I was returning to is the Gaspe ZEC, where the world famous York, Dartmouth and St. Jean rivers converge into the Atlantic and provide excellent spawning grounds for large Atlantic Salmon. For information on this ZEC, check out ZEC Gaspe.

The peninsula coastline is beautiful, and after 12 hours of driving I found myself in the ZEC office gathering info, buying permits, and entering the 48 hour lotteries for the week. My focus on the trip would be to the York River. I spent a few days doing a lot of hiking and scouting to search for holding salmon and just enjoy the cystal clear water.

I did uncover a few Brookies which also share the river, and even had an Otter chase one while I was landing it.

Green Mountain MIrrors

I have a trip to Quebec planned next month and wanted to do a little gear testing, so Ash and I loaded up and headed into our local Green Mountains for an overnight backpack to cool off at an alpine pond, and hopefully make a few casts too.

After setting up camp overlooking the pond, we headed down to the water's edge to see what was going on. There were a few bugs coming off, and as the evening progressed and we worked our way around the perimeter, I eventually heard the tell-tale sound of a jumping fish back in a cove. A few casts later, had my first of a number of hungry little alpine gems on the end of the line. All was quiet, the water turned to glass, with the occasional trout breaking through the mirror.

It was the proper way to spend an evening.

Kayak'N for Carp

OH MAN, what have I been missing! Lake Champlain Carp, AKA Yankee Bonefish, are pure fun to fly fish for from a kayak. I'd read a few articles on how fly fisherman were beginning to target these guys, and now I can see why. Challenging, powerful, BIG, skittish, and local, fishing for them is very similar to stalking Bonefish in tropical flats.

While checking out a new area for Bowfin in Lake Champlain in my Jackson Kayak Day Tripper Elite, I stumbled across some Carp feeding in the tall grasses, just like Redfish. Fishing kayaks are great tools for hunting these guys, let you sneak up quietly in the shallows and get where other anglers can't. Weather wasn't really good that day -- a little breezy and cloudy, so I went back the next day in bright sun and calm winds -- just what you need to spot fish from a distance.

The first one was a loner, just cruising the sand flats. After a couple 50 ft casts, I saw the subtle take, strip set and hung on. I laughed as I watched my backing peel off the reel. About a half hour later, I was stepping out of the kayak onto the sand flats and landing my first Carp on a fly rod.

A little while later, I found a group of a half dozen or so feeding near a weed bed. I picked out the largest one, dropped a fly over its nose, watched it rise up and saw the take again. This one was even bigger, just massive. It headed off into the weeds, and I think it took a while for it to realize it was even hooked. It had so much power, all I could do was let it pull me around in the kayak to tire itself out. About an hour later I was able to get it to the boat, and it was all I could do to drag it into my lap. What a fish.

I probably won't be able to chase Bonefish in Belize again for a while, but these guys will sure help me practice.

D

Prehistoric Fins

I've been introduced to a couple really fun new species to target on a fly rod as the heat of summer picks up and the trout fishing turns off. One of them is the Bowfin -- they've been around since the dinosaurs.

Bowfin are characterized by a huge dorsal fin, and a complimentary huge appetite. Sight fishing for them is awesome as you creep through the shallows looking for that dorsal fin, treading water like a snake under the surface. They are top of the food chain predators, plain and simple, and once you find them will HAMMER a fly. No need to be stealthy, deal with long leaders or be delicate -- except when handling them, for your sake, not theirs. They can live out of water for a while, have teeth, and will bite. Watch those fingers.

Lake Champlain is a local resource that I really haven't taken a lot of advantage of, but that will be changing after going after these guys.

Mt. Washington : Summit Sunsets

To everybody's surprise, the storm which had been engulfing the mountain for a week broke after dinner, and the skies opened up to incredible views in every direction.

Despite being comfortable with full stomachs after the AMC's hut dinner, I convinced Ash that an evening summit trip would be well worth it -- after all, the weather could change back any minute. So we threw on our boots and headed up the final mile and half to the top, in total privacy. What is usually a crowded summit, was deserted, and we watched the sunset through the thin layer of clouds just hanging on to the last hundred feet of the summit cone. The hike down provided great sunset views on one side, while watching the moon rise on the other.

The next morning after breakfast we headed down the steep Ammonoosuc Ravine trail -- one of the coolest trails I've ever done, with countless waterfalls benefiting from the recent rains and some very steep rock hopping.

It was a fun overnight, and Ash was glad to finally get on top of that mountain...