Nate Matthews

Catchbook Fishing Reports: A Social Fishing App from the Editors of Field & Stream

Online Editors — Thu, 05 Apr 2012 14:37:45 -0400

If you're an angler, you know that keeping a detailed journal of your time on the water is one of the best ways to up your catch rate. That's because, over time, your journal will show you patterns in when and where fish bite, and what lures and baits work best under different conditions. The more detailed your journal is, the more of these patterns you'll see. But keeping a detailed journal requires time and dedication that most anglers can't afford.

Not anymore. Field & Stream's FREE new Catchbook app, just released on the iPhone, is designed to take all the work out of keeping a fishing journal. The app does this by taking photos of fish you've already shot with your phone and automatically converting them into detailed fishing reports that include the weather and water conditions present when those photos were taken. The app pins each report to a map, then lets you share them exclusively with trusted friends and fishing buddies. The more friends you have, the more reports you see on your map, and the easier it becomes to pattern your spots!

Our editorial team has been working for nearly half a year on the project, and it finally launched last week. Now we're looking for feedback from the people we designed it for. You! If there are bugs, we want to know about them. If there's something you think we can improve, we want to know what that is. And if you love something we've done? We want to know that, too.

We'll incorporate your comments into updates to the app, which we're planning to roll out regularly. You can give us your feedback by commenting on this post, or within a new "Catchbook" category in our online Answers section. And, right now, exclusively for readers of this site (and for a limited time only) if you sign up and request user "Field & Stream" as a friend within the app, we'll add 5,000 points to your F&S Online username.

Click here to view the app in the iTunes store, or follow the jump for more details on how Catchbook works. Thanks for checking it out! -- The Editors

POST YOUR PHOTOS
Catchbook lets you turn any fish photo you’ve ever taken with your iPhone into a detailed journal entry that includes the time, date, location, and weather present when you caught each fish. Upload your old fish photos to get started, then make sure to snap away with your camera the next time you’re out on the water. Add records to your journal by choosing the photos you want to upload and telling us the species of fish in each photo. The app does the rest! Add optional information (such as the size and color lure you were using) to create even more detailed records to share with your friends.

POOL YOUR RECORDS
The more friends you invite into Catchbook, the more catches you’ll see on your map. And the more catches you see, the easier it will be for you to pattern your spots. Inviting friends is easy. Invite people you’re already friends with on Facebook, or send your fishing buddies invites by email. You can also find new people to fish with by searching for other Catchbook users who fish in the same places you do.

PATTERN YOUR SPOTS
Every time you (or one of your friends) posts a photo to Catchbook, that photo gets pinned to a spot on your map. Filter your map to show only fish caught at specific times of the year, at different times of the day, under specific weather conditions and water temps, and much, much more! You’ll quickly see patterns in which spots work best under different conditions. Then use the app’s “Best Baits” features to learn which flies, lures, and baits caught the most fish under the conditions and areas you’ve selected.

Map filtering options include:
-- Fish species and fish size
-- Time of year and time of day
-- Moon phase
-- Wind speed and direction
-- Water temperature, water clarity, lake/river level, and tidal stage
-- Barometric pressure and barometric trend
-- Air temperature, cloud cover, and precipitation type

WATCH CATCHES IN REAL TIME
Keep an eye on what people are catching around the country by clicking on the “Catches” tab. You’ll see all the latest fish entered into Catchbook (photos only — no spot burning here).

SEE WHERE YOU RANK!
Find your name in a list of top users by species.

Riding the Rio Grande, Day Ten: Camping with Tarantulas

Online Editors — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 12:05:53 -0500

NM: 10/2, 8:00 AM
Mariscal Canyon, Big Bend National Park, morning light.

We camped last night on a flat sandbank on the Texas side of the river. Tim and I find a trail up a break in the walls that leads to the top of the cliff. We step out onto an overhanging rock on the rim and can see deep into the canyon we ran last night. There are vultures soaring below us, riding updrafts along the cliff walls.

Today we only have a six-mile float from where we’re camped now to the pullout, where we parked Dad’s bike yesterday afternoon. Once we get there we’ll have to run 70 miles of shuttle up and down rough trail to get both bikes and the truck to our camp for the night, but compared to the distances we’ve been covering lately it feels like we get to take it easy.

BM: 8:15 AM
Woke to canyon wren song this morning. Nice.

Tim and Nate waving from rimrock. Love the cactus– prickly pear? -- growing in clumps in different places. The vastness of this desert landscape is amazing -- muted colors, shadings, layers of shadows, layers of geology, of meaning.

Fun to watch Nate goof with Tim. They’re good friends as well as contractor/employer. Mutual respect. Nate’s checking to be sure Tim gets what he needs RE shots, lighting. Be interesting to see how it will all work out in the writing.

NM: 10:00 AM
We start the day’s float. There are big yellow wasps flying everywhere. Not aggressive, but they are drawn to the colors of our gear and crawl into our cups and bottles while we’re eating breakfast. Neat-looking bugs, but Tim hates them. He’s got a thing about bees, can’t help ducking and swatting whenever one flies by. No wonder he gets stung so often. I’m feeling evil, so I tell him I think they’re the kind that stings tarantulas, paralyzing them so that their larvae can live off fresh meat.

NM: 12:00 PM
Drifting, spinning lazy circles down the canyon, leaning back on the boat and staring up at the walls of the canyon. Dad’s only paddling to keep us from scraping the sheer, scoured walls of limestone and basalt.

There are lots of birds down here. Kingbirds, canyon wrens, vultures, and a flock of cinnamon teal we keep jumping as we make our way downstream. Tim spots an audad on the Mexico side – a wild-looking sheep native to Morocco, I think. Must have been released by some game farm or another over there.

We tried to fish last night for a few hours, and then again this morning, early, but couldn’t put much heart in it. The water was so high and so dirty. We were hoping for catfish, but park regs ban natural bait. Tried threading chunks of spam onto our hooks and chumming with bits of Vienna sausage instead. Not even a nibble.

BM: 1:30 PM
It’s getting hotter. We’ve drifted out of the canyon and without the walls’ shade the sun makes clear we’re deep in the desert. Got to keep our eyes peeled for the pullout. We marked it with a rock cairn flagged with a big tuft of reed, but if we miss it it’s another 20 miles, unprovisioned, until the next place to stop.

NM: 2:00 PM
We spotted the pullout a half hour ago and pulled the boats up onto the bank. Tim and Dad start unpacking them while I run the shuttle on Dad’s bike. I left my boots in the truck when we dropped in at the head of the canyon, so I have to ride in sandals. Makes for a sketchy trip, with cactus lining the trial and the front tire throwing out rocks. I stock up on water and take it easy – this is real desert, a bad place to ditch solo in sandals. Spook lots of lizards on the ride, plus a couple of jackrabbits and three big roadrunners that pace me for a few yards before darting off into the thorny scrub.

I get to the truck, leave the bike, then drive back to pick up Tim and Dad, who pile in as soon as I arrive so we can go back again to pick up the bikes. Fortunately, Dad’s riding very well now. He’s stopped looking down at the obstacles he’s crossing and is looking ahead instead, picking out the lines he needs to follow. He pumps his fist every time he crosses a rough spot. Great to see the confidence.

BM: 7:00 PM
Was quite worried about the last leg of the shuttle on the motorcycle this afternoon. Lots of loose sand and gravel – been my nemesis so far and accounts for two or three of my bifffs. But, I think I’m getting better. Made the 17 miles or so without a hitch. Only a couple of truly scary moments, quickly controlled. I was elated and grateful.

Now I’m in my tent listening to Nate and Tim “critter hunting” – they’re looking for tarantulas and scorpions in the dark, scaring each other, giggling like little boys.

NM: 9:00 PM
Dad does the dishes and leaves us a bit of hot water to wash our faces with. Then he goes to bed, or at least spends an hour or so listening to Tim and me hunting bugs in the dark.

Walking through a wild desert with no light but a headlamp gives you a new perspective on the landscape. During the day you’re distracted by the big picture, the scope and the newness of the view. But at night you can’t see anything but what’s in the width of your beam. It makes you pay attention to the little things at your feet.

There’s a lot down there. The sand is pocked with tiny burrows, a spider or a scorpion hiding in all of them. Their eyes sparkle like diamonds in the light.

Tim and I find a huge tarantula in one of them and I tease it out by tapping in front of its hole with a twig. We spend a half hour taking its picture, then another shooting a walking stick and a couple of scorpions before finally turning in for the night.

Tomorrow we go to Amistad. Long day on the road, part one of a two-day ride to get to Falcon Reservoir, where a guide I found on the Internet will take us out for largemouth. Here’s hoping we’ll finally get into fish when we arrive.

Riding the Rio Grande, Day Nine: Rapids in the Dark

Online Editors — Thu, 30 Dec 2010 14:15:09 -0500

NM: 10/1, 6:30 AM
Woke up this morning in another beautiful campsite, just 100 yards from Mexico and 30 miles or so from the western edge of Big Bend National Park. Everyone’s dragging a bit, so we fire up our stoves and brew some java. Tim’s sitting at a picnic table and nursing a cup. “God, coffee. Work!” he says.

Our goal over the next two days is to reach and then paddle a stretch of the Rio Grande that flows through 1800-foot deep Mariscal Canyon, which is supposedly the most beautiful canyon in Big Bend. The float is not very long, only 11 miles, and we’ll be splitting it up over two days, but there’s only one place to camp in the canyon, about halfway through the float. Dropping in at the put-in with enough light left to reach it will be critical.

Our route today takes us clear across the park, then up a 4-wheel-drive trail that follows the river deep into the backcountry. About 12 miles up this trail we’ll hit the pullout for the Mariscal float. The plan is to drop Dad’s bike off there so we can use it as a shuttle vehicle tomorrow. Dad will then hop in the truck with Tim and we’ll continue an additional 17 miles up the trail to the put-in at the head of the canyon. From there we have unload the boats, pack up our gear, then paddle to our campsite before it gets too dark to recognize. If we overshoot we’ll have to keep on going to the pull-out, because there’s nothing but sheer cliff on either side. Should be an interesting day.

BM: 9:30 AM
Fabulous ride this morning from our campsite down TX 170 and into the park. Beautiful winding roads, river and mountain views, great morning light. We passed a Mustang rally – hundreds of them zooming head-on towards us around the curves. I’m finally starting to understand the rush Nate’s been telling me he gets from riding this stuff. Leaning into those turns, trusting the bike to pull you through. Feels like I’m starting to get the hang of this motorcycle thing.

We stop in Terlingua, a tiny tourist town on western edge of the park, and we all have migas for breakfast at the Los Jalapenos café. Funky town, in a western hippie border sort of way. Home of the World Chili Championship. There’s a store attached to the café, and Tim asks the lady at the counter how she wound up there. “Well,” she says, “ I lived in an ambulance for a while, and followed a lot of Greatful Dead shows .…” She trails off, and we leave it at that.

NM: 10:00 AM
Feeling nervous about the float today. We heard reports in Terlingua of very high water levels. Supposed to be one difficult class III near the middle of the canyon called the “Tight Squeeze.” The rafting companies we talk to won’t tell us it’s ok to float it in an open boat, but they won’t tell us not to, either. Probably just covering their asses.

Still, I’m glad Dad’s along on this trip. He used to race kayaks back when he was my age, before I was born. Would travel up and down the east coast on weekends, trying to gain enough rank to make the Olympic qualifiers. I’m a pretty good paddler, but he’s seriously skilled, and I feel a lot more confident with him in the stern.

BM: 4:00 PM
We reach the 4-wheel trail around 2. It’s really hot. Not so much humid, sweaty hot, but downright oven-hot. Got to drink lots. Hitting high 90s, over 100. The trail is gnarly, lots of loose sand and gravel trying to grab at my tires. Riding in the stuff takes it out of you.
It takes us two hours to make it roughly 30 miles up the trail to the put-in. Right now we’re taking a quick breather before packing up the boats and pushing off into the river, but we don’t have much time to rest. The sun is dropping fast.

NM: 5:00 PM
Finally floating the canyon. What an amazing place this is. Dad and I are eddied out at the base of a huge cliff that’s pocked with golfball-sized divots worn into the rock by circling currents of sand. I’ve got my paddle handle wedged into one of them and it’s holding us against the wall while we wait for Tim to catch up.

The river is corking high. Chocolate brown and fast. Not much room for error in these powerful currents. Even Tim is having nervous moments in his little one-man raft. “Those eddies are pushy,” he says after he drifts down to where we’re waiting. “This boat doesn’t have the surface area it takes to fight them. If I leave an oar in the water in the wrong spot this thing will flip in a second.”

It’s also starting to get dark. The canyon is so deep that light leaves the bottom very quickly. There’s still some sun coming down from where its hitting the walls of the canyon above us, so we’ll be able to paddle for a while longer, but we can hear the bats nesting in the cliff chittering, getting ready for their evening feed. Not sure how much further it is to the campsite but we’ll need to push hard to reach it if we’re going to get there before it’s completely black down here.

BM: 8:00 PM
Had to paddle the last half-hour of the float in near pitch dark, with nothing but a gap of sunset at the top of the canyon and the light from our headlamps to pick our way through the darkness at the bottom. We hit the Tight Squeeze with just enough visibility to scout it, then it was pretty much lights out. Fortunately the rapid was not so bad. Straight shot, if a little wet, then stay on the left edge of the current to avoid getting pinned against a cliff. Pretty simple, really -- even in the dark it wasn’t much of a problem. What was more scary was finding the campsite after. But we do, and despite Tim spooking a rattler on the bank as we pull up our boats are able to set up our tents and make dinner without accident.

Now Nate and Tim are heading down to the river to wash the dishes and see if they can catch a fish. Seems a little futile in this high water, so I’m turning in. We’ve got the second half of our float tomorrow, then we have to run the shuttle to pick up the truck and the other bike from the put-in. Gonna need the rest.

Riding the Rio Grande, Days Seven and Eight: Rattlesnake Flats

Online Editors — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 10:00:35 -0500

NM: 9/29, 9:00 AM
We’ve got two days of nothing but riding ahead of us. Going to be our longest stretch to date. Grueling heat, bright sun, not much room in the schedule for rest. Have to reach Big Bend National Park, near the southernmost point along the Texas border, by tomorrow evening. We plan to do another two-day float there in our canoe, and I want to camp close to the put-in so we have time to complete it safely. Don’t want to run any rapids in the dark.

BM: 9/29, 2:00 PM
Stayed last night in a motel in Albuquerque. Much needed rest in a bed. Long day planned. I start out feeling good, but there’s tough traffic on I-25 out of town. Windy, drafty from other vehicles. Red semi on my tail. I admit to flipping him off. The speed limit is 75 and we hit 80 a lot. Passed a big sign earlier, read “Dust Storms Exist.”

My bike skills kind of suck. Hard to work that friction zone to keep from stalling. Need to trust that the bike will follow my head and to look up. It’s the slow speed stuff that’s the killer.

NM: 9/29, 3:30 PM
Dad rides too slowly when entering the highway off the on ramps. When we first hit I-25 in Albuquerque he cut right in front of a massive red semi doing 80 in the slow lane. Driver goes nuts, starts tailgating him. Dad’s oblivious, has no idea why. Flips him off. Yikes. His bike looks really small in front of that rig. I have to remind myself regularly to look at the road ahead. Spending too much time watching him in my mirrors.

BM: 9/29, 4:30 PM
On Route 1, paralleling the highway north of Truth or Consequences. We’re taking a break from the monotony of the Interstate. Nice road. Lots of curves. More stuff to see. Including this huge, 6-plus foot rattlesnake stretched out in the middle of the road. Nate was in front of me, blew by it without slowing down. It struck at him as he went by, but of course he was doing 80 and it missed him by a mile. Which left me with a thoroughly pissed rattler right in my path. I swerved and missed him, somehow. Nate said later he’d thought it was a piece of truck tire.

NM: 9/29, 9:45 PM
We left the highway for good at the town of Hatch. Unusual town. Full of weird statuary, red chiles drying on rooftops, and tons of agriculture – chile farms, pecan groves - fed by irrigation from the river. After riding all day through the high, dry central New Mexico desert the water rising from the fields made the evening air smell and feel wonderful. Wanted to ride with the faceshield open to enjoy it but there were too many bugs hatching from the river and the irrigation canals along the road, stinging my eyes and getting into my teeth.

We pushed southeast out of Hatch through the Rincon Valley as the sun set, hoping to camp in the town of Radium Springs, but by the time we arrived at the campground we’d planned to stay at it was closed for the night. Only other place in town was an RV park nearby, but the old lady who answered the office door took one look at our bikes and told us to take a hike, then let her dog out to reinforce the point. Guess we looked pretty shady after a long day on the highway. We’re crashing now at a hotel in Las Cruces instead. Early start tomorrow – still have a long way to go to get to Big Bend.

BM: 9/30, 9:00 AM
Up at 5:30, on the road by 6:00 at first dawn glow. Launched into heavy traffic which lasted until I-10 split and we headed east toward El Paso and the rising sun. Almost immediately we hit construction. Down to one lane. Still going 60. Suddenly my bike gets squirrely. At first I think it’s the road but almost immediately know that’s not it. I start to ease to the right to get on the shoulder and all hell breaks loose. Rear end skidding one way, then back. I realize the tire is going flat, fast. Still going 40 – I was sure I was about to get crunched. But, somehow, I made it upright to the shoulder, got the bike stopped, and sat there a minute with my hands on my head, just breathing, and being grateful it was breathing I could do.

Tim was right behind me, filming me ride into the sunrise. Thankfully he looked up in time to see the bike kick out and was able to slow and stop. He later said that when he saw me upright he wanted to hug me. I wished he had. Nate asked later how I managed to control the bike and get it stopped after a blowing a tire at 60. I told him it wasn’t me. He asked what I meant and I looked upward. He understood.

NM: 9/30, 9:00 PM
We get Dad’s bike fixed in El Paso at a Kawasaki dealership, then speed off again, riding east and south at 80 mph under a hot, midday Texas sun. Not much room in the schedule for breaks after the lost time, but we take as many as we can to stave off fatigue and to make sure the bikes are fueled up. West Texas is desolation incarnate. Towns are few, and tiny, or abandoned altogether. We stopped in one, Valentine (pop. 217) to wait for Tim, who was photographing some kind of radar blimp the border patrol uses to look for drug smugglers. Only person we saw was an old man in a cowboy shirt wearing a 10-gallon Stetson. He was riding to the post office on his motorized wheel chair.

The border patrol is a massive presence down here. Every third vehicle we pass on the road is full of agents, and we’ve already been stopped at three check stations, where they have dogs sniff your stuff before they let you through. With all the drug cartel craziness going on across the border it’s good to know they’re around.

The closer we get to Big Bend, the more the terrain changes, and by the time we reach Presidio, a border town west of the park, mountains have erupted from the desert sand, like broken molars in an old jaw bone. The sun is setting, but we ride on through the late evening before finally calling it quits 30 miles from the park boundary. We set up our tents just off the road on a sandy flat next to the river. Mexico is 100 yards away.

In the morning we’ll have a 70-mile ride through the park, then another 30 miles on a 4-wheel-drive trail to reach where we’re dropping the boats in the water. I’d hoped to camp closer to that spot tonight, but Dad’s flat put us too far behind schedule, so it’s going to be another long day tomorrow.

You can see more photos from Days Seven and Eight of this expedition (and find new journal updates as they are posted) by clicking here.

Riding the Rio Grande, Day Six: Los Alamos Quicksand

Online Editors — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 11:00:24 -0500

BM: 9/29, 8:45
We kicked off this morning by running some rapids that were squirrely enough to want to run empty. We planned our route and as with all things, had to modify when we hit the first big rock eddy. We eddied out, but got lined back up and shot the rest, only taking on a little water. Fun run!

NM: 11:45
It’s panting hot out here. Sun directly overhead. Not a breath of wind. We’re floating slowly down a wide current of red water. More liquid mud than anything. There’s sediment suspended the whole way through the water column. I can barely see the blade of my paddle when it’s under the surface. Makes it hard to tell how deep the water will be, and where the channels cut. We’ve had to get out and drag the boat a number of times over subsurface flats hidden by the dirty water. Mostly solid enough to walk over, but some scary quicksand. Don’t seem to hear much about the stuff anymore. Used to be sort of an action movie cliché. They should mine it more. I can't imagine what it would be like if you were trapped out here in the stuff by yourself.

BM: 2:00
Ran into a crew of scientists from Los Alamos National Lab and another from the New Mexico Department of Energy and Environment. LANL was sampling leachate to see if any of the various contaminant cocktails they’d been dumping for years into the upper canyons were making their way into the tribs and eventually the main river. The NM folks were checking up on them, splitting samples, etc. The guides who were rafting them were surprised to see us. Says said no one else runs the canyon. Interesting – it is so wild and beautiful.

The fishing continues to be awful. The river is full of silt. Tiny, gritty silt. Gets into everything. Hard to imagine that this is better-than-usual conditions. The guides told us there are catfish; if we fished after dark with stinkbait maybe we would catch something.

NM: 4:00
Finally reached the main reservoir. There’s a guy named Richard Smith who will come and tow you from the inlet to the boat launch a few miles away for $50. Distance isn’t too bad in a canoe, but there’s usually a headwind on the lake so it’s tough on rafts. Would be a tough pull for Tim, who’s already had a long day trying to keep up with our boat in the slow, flat water we’ve been paddling.

BM: 7:30
Exhausted at the end of each day. We’re eating ok and drinking lots of water. Sun takes a toll, I think. By the time we get off the river we are all beat, and we still have to unload the Toyota, repack, re-load, and head out for the hour-long drive to our hotel in Albuquerque.

Trip’s been challenging my fatigue attitude. Tough to function well when you are so physically tired. I know it’s been tough on Nate and Tim, too. I think it helps to try to recognize my limitations. But I’ve challenged them as well, especially with the bike.

Tomorrow we ride to Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Interesting name. Mostly highway riding, from what Nate says, so I should be fine. But it’ll be another long haul, and they’re adding up.

You can see more photos from Day Six of this expedition (and find new journal updates as they are posted) by clicking here.

Riding the Rio Grande, Day Five: Crashing and Floating

Online Editors — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 12:56:00 -0500

Last fall, Field & Stream Online Editor Nate Matthews and his father, Bruce, spent 15 days fishing the Rio Grande River from its headwaters in Colorado to its mouth at the Gulf of Mexico. These excerpts from their journals tell the story of their 2500-mile motorcycle ride along the historic river. Photographer Tim Romano documented the excursion. You can see more photos from Day Five of this expedition (and find new journal updates as they are posted) by clicking here.

BM: 9/28, 6:30 AM
Today we broke camp and re-organized our gear for the first half of the float Nate’s got planned for us (that's a map of the day's float in the photo above). Up early and moving fast so we can get to the put-in in time to do some fishing. It's apparently a pretty long ride to get reach it. Tried to get all the stuff in the truck within five minutes -- Tim filmed the loading.

But … the Toyota won’t start. Battery’s fully discharged. Somehow in all the data dumping, camera charging, etc., we must have run out of juice.

So, Nate’s off on the bike looking for help. Tim’s calling Triple A. And our schedule is a little screwed.

Video Clip: Loading the Truck

NM: 12:30 PM
Finally on the road. Right now we’re filling up at a gas station in Espanola (home of “The Best Frito Pie in New Mexico,” says one billboard). It’s already past noon, and we’re running late. We’ve got at least an hour-and-a-half to go before we reach the put-in for our float down a stretch of the Rio Grande that flows through Whiterock Canyon, where we were supposed to meet Greg at 10:30. He volunteered to help us shuttle our vehicles to the pull-out on the other side of Cochiti Reservoir, a huge favor that’s saving us at least six hours of riding. I hate to keep him waiting. But it took me over an hour to flag down a jump this morning after Tim’s camera gear drained the truck battery. Only thing we can do is push on as fast as Dad can ride.

I wish we’d had more time for photos during the ride down here. There’s just so much to see, and I worry that I’ve packed too much into the itinerary for us to capture the best of it for the magazine. Tim’s feeling the pressure the most. “Shooting this trip is tough,” he says. “We’re moving so fast it feels kind of frantic. It’s just brrd-d-d-d-d-d, rapid fire, then stamp on the gas.” It doesn't help him that he's trying to get video clips as well. I’m hoping things will slow down for him a little once we get on the water.

Helmet Cam: Crossing the John Dunne Bridge

BM: 7:30 PM
Evening now, and we’re camped part way down our float through the canyon. We think maybe on Los Alamos land – probably illegal to stop here. But, there are other signs of campsites. Cows use it. And there’s a humongous set of bear tracks – fresh – in the mud.

We saw our first rattler this afternoon. I was retrieving a lure for Nate that he’d hung on a brush pile by the bank. Kind of reached up to get it and I started to feel like maybe not a good idea, and right then Nate said “rattler!” It was coiled about six feet from him. Sleepy, likely cold, but very dangerous looking. Like, “what kind of fool would ever want to mess with me?”

We had a fairly long ride this morning from Cebolla Mesa, including a section of highway across the river from Taos where there were literally hundreds of tarantulas crossing the highway. I tried not to run over any but some couldn’t be helped.

There were red pepper stands everywhere. Nate and I stopped at one. “$10 for a foot-long string of them” said the vendor. No place to put that many, of course. Nate asked how much for one, and the guy said nothing and gave us a couple for free. I gave him a couple of bucks anyway.

Nate cut them up and put them in the quesadillas he cooked this evening. Some good!

I wiped out again today, just as we reached the launch site for our float. Sand and my motorcycle don’t mix. I’d already made it through a bunch of sand pits on this really crappy road down to the put-in, but the last one ate me, not 20 yards from the river. Two bad knees now. They hurt. The left from all the issues on yesterday’s hike, the right from the crash. But, I’m in one piece. So is the bike.

The river was pretty much unfishable on the float. Coffee brown, full of silt. Maybe three inches of visibility. Greg said it’s all coming from the Chama River, a tributary that enters upstream. We’d say it was blown out at home. Seems blown out here. We haven’t caught anything.

Ran some fun rapids, and first thing in the morning we have a challenging one. We’re camped now just above it. When we got out to scout it earlier we realized we’d have to unload the boat before attempting it, and since we were beat already, decided that we’d simply wait to hit it until the morning, when we’re fresh and rested. If Nate and I can keep river left we should be fine. Ship a little water, is all.

Video Clip: Scouting Ancho Falls

NM: 8:30 PM
Dad scraped up his leg pretty good when he crashed in the sand, and I think he tweaked his back, too. He was pinned under the bike for a few seconds, as long as it took for me and Tim to sprint over to him. I’m glad he was wearing his riding pants – could have gotten a nasty burn otherwise. Still, he’s pretty battered right now. Says he’s thinking about surgery on his right knee when he gets home. I’ve also noticed how his hands are cramping up from pulling the clutch all day. It’s making him ride the bike more tentatively, and I think that may be part of the reason he crashed. You have to know how to trust your motorcycle when you’re riding in sand.

I’m glad we stopped where we did. He hasn’t complained a bit on this trip, but I know he needs the rest. We’ll hit the rapid in the morning. Hope we don’t wrap the boat on that big rock in the middle.

You can see more photos from Day Five of this expedition (and find new journal updates as they are posted) by clicking here.

Video Recap: Riding the Upper River

Online Editors — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 12:48:42 -0500

Riding the Rio Grande, Day Four: Fishing the Canyon

Online Editors — Tue, 14 Dec 2010 14:40:09 -0500

Last fall, Field & Stream Online Editor Nate Matthews and his father, Bruce, spent 15 days fishing the Rio Grande River from its headwaters in Colorado to its mouth at the Gulf of Mexico. These excerpts from their journals tell the story of their 2500-mile motorcycle ride along the historic river. Photographer Tim Romano documented the excursion. You can see more photos from Day Four of this expedition (and find new journal updates as they are posted) by clicking here.

NM: 9/27, 7:00 AM
Yesterday was a riding day; we spent roughly 10 hours on the bikes leaving the headwaters and then passing through the desert of the San Luis Valley. When we finally arrived at our campsite on the east side of the Upper Rio Grande Canyon it was nearing full dark. I pitched my tent on the edge of a cliff, then crawled into my sleeping bag and passed out, exhausted. Woke up this morning to an incredible view, but it's a good thing I don’t walk in my sleep … I hadn’t quite realized how far down it was to the bottom.

Today is a fishing day. Right now we’re brewing coffee and waiting for Greg McReynolds, a buddy of Tim’s who also happens to be Trout Unlimited’s Public Lands Coordinator for New Mexico. The plan for the day is to hike down to the bottom of the gorge and fish for trout until dark. Greg’s coming along to put us on fish – the river here is one of his home waters.

7:45 AM
Greg shows up. We do the introductions and he passes out some bean-and-egg burritos he brought up from Albuquerque, where he lives with his wife and young son. We head out after eating.

8:45 AM
The trail from the top of the canyon down to the bottom of the gorge is steep, narrow, lined with cactus, and full of switchbacks that leave you teetering on the edge of dropoffs and rock slides. We’re not carrying much gear -- just waders and boots in our daypacks, but it’s still a bit of a leg burner to get to the bottom, and I notice dad start limping about halfway there. When we get to the river Greg looks back up at the top and shakes his head. “I usually wind up crawling back out of here,” he says.

The trail reaches the Rio Grande at the junction between it and a smaller tributary called the Red River. Both look like excellent water, so we split up. Greg goes with Dad up the Rio; Tim and I hit the Red. We’re throwing big hoppers on heavy tippet, dapping the pockets between every boulder. It’s tough fishing, again. Hot, bright, and cloudless. The good weather we’ve seen so far has been great for riding our motorcycles but it’s death on catching trout. Greg says the average fish in both rivers is around 17, 18 inches, but all we’re able to raise are a couple of small browns. Still, a fish is a fish, and at least we’re on the board.

1:30 PM
We circle back around lunchtime only to discover that something has ripped into Greg’s pack and eaten most of the leftover burritos we brought to munch on. There’s only half of one left, and it’s half chewed as well. We split it anyway, too hungry to care, and supplement with a couple of the granola bars that whatever it was didn’t find.

Dad heads back up the trail to the campsite on his own after lunch. His knee is bothering him and he’s having a hard time scrambling over the slick volcanic boulders that line the river down here. I’m a little concerned about him doing the climb alone, and also by the fact that he’s bagging it early. Not really like him. But he promises to take it easy.

2:30 PM
After he leaves, Tim, Greg and I fish our way up another four miles of the Rio Grande. It’s really hot, and the water is just dead quiet. We cast and cast for hours, trying to raise a strike, and finally see a good fish start rising on the other side of a wide pool in the river just as the sun drops behind the western rim of the canyon. By stripping off my waders I can just get within range of the fish, but it’s camped in a slow eddy along the far bank and I can’t lay enough slack on the water when casting that far to keep the main current from dragging my fly. I’m about to pull a Brad Pitt and swim across the river when Greg makes the call to head out. It’s getting dark, and we’ve got a five-mile hike ahead of us.

6:00 PM
The trek back up the canyon is a killer, and by the time we reach the top it’s pitch dark, with nothing but stars and one headlamp between us to light the way. All of us are hungry, out of breath, out of water, and desperately thirsty. We reach the trailhead trading fantasies about cold beer, and are kicking ourselves for failing to pick some up the day before when Dad walks up out of the darkness and hands us each a chilled Newcastle. He’d been to town while we were fishing and had picked up a sixpack. It felt like we’d just won the lottery.

BM: 9/27, 9:00 PM
Greg took us down into the box today. My left knee started acting up. It worried me, and I tell Nate. We split up. Nate and Tim headed up the Red River. Greg and I go up the Rio Grande. I catch a beautiful little brown trout. Nate catches a couple. They play with a tarantula. But it’s slow, and hot. My knee hurts. I leave early and take my time returning up the trail. Supposed to only be one mile. Maybe as the crow flies. It feels like five.

Guys arrived from long hike up the canyon in the dark. Cold beer awaited. I redeemed myself. And again by having dinner just about ready. Barbeque chicken grilled over the fire and fresh corn on the cob.

NM: 9/27, 9:45 PM
Tomorrow we're leaving the upper river (and trout habitat) behind. We've got a half-day float in our canoe (and a half-day ride to get there) planned for a stretch of the Rio called White Rock Canyon, which flows into the Cochiti Reservoir northwest of Albuquerque. Time for bed. We're going to need the rest.

You can see more photos from Day Four of this expedition (and find new journal updates as they are posted) by clicking here.

Riding the Rio Grande, Day Three: Enter the Desert

Online Editors — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 12:35:22 -0500

Last fall, Field & Stream Online Editor Nate Matthews and his father, Bruce, spent 15 days fishing the Rio Grande River from its headwaters in Colorado to its mouth at the Gulf of Mexico. These excerpts from their journals tell the story of their 2500-mile motorcycle ride along the historic river. Photographer Tim Romano documented the excursion. You can see more photos from Day Three of this expedition (and find new journal updates as they are posted) by clicking here.

NM: 9/26, 9:00 PM
We're camped at a beautiful spot on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Upper Rio Grande Canyon, just northeast of Taos. The place is called Cebolla Mesa. Tomorrow we plan to hike down the mile-long trail that leads from where we’ve pitched our tents to where I can hear the river roaring faintly. It’s pitch dark right now – we had to ride at night again to get here, so I can’t see the bottom, but it sounds like excellent pocket water. I’m excited. Tomorrow will be one of the few days on this trip where we'll have the luxury of doing nothing but fish.

This is a good thing, because today we did nothing but ride. And ride. And ride some more. There are too many miles for us to cover on this trip. We woke up early in our headwater camp below the Continental Divide, but had to wait to leave until the sun rose high enough to melt the frost off the rain flies of our tents. Dad and I sat in the truck while we waited, drinking coffee, writing in our journals, and enjoying how the 4Runner's heated seats worked the kinks out of our lower backs.

We finally hit the road around 9:30 and followed the river south and east out of the highlands and into the San Luis Valley. The Rio turns due south at the town of Alamosa, and the terrain there was totally different than it was in the headwaters. High desert. Dry, wide, and empty. We stayed on poorly marked roads, keeping as close to the river as we could, past abandoned homesteads and through vast plains of sagebrush full of pronghorn and wild horses. By the time we crossed the New Mexico border near Costilla, below the Valle Vidal, the sun was dropping below the peaks on the west side of the Rio Grande Valley.

Sitting on a bike for such a long time is hard on your body. Your tailbone creaks when you shift in your seat, so you do it slowly, millimeter by millimeter. When you stop for breaks you can still feel your arms vibrating, even when the bike is off, the way you can feel waves beneath your feet when you first walk on land after spending some time at sea. It takes a toll on you. I can see it in my dad’s face. His eyes are normally hazel, but when he took off his helmet during one break today I noticed that they looked more blue than normal, faded and wet from the wind, the color of worn, grass-stained jeans held under a river. His hair, mostly gray, with streaks of white and a few black locks fighting rear-guard, was twisted and greasy beneath the bandanna he’s taken to wearing (he calls it his “do-rag”). His face was more lined than I remember. It looked haggard, but content. I could tell he was having fun despite the discomfort. Or maybe because of it. After all, he’s the one that taught me how everything takes on more meaning when you’re pushing the limits of what you think you can handle.

BM: 9/26, 9:30 PM
Another frosty morning. Cloudless sunrise. Elk calling in the night, coyotes howling at moonrise. 360 degrees of break-out-crying beautiful. I just wish there’d been an adipose fin or two.

Riding south of Alamosa. Nothing but broken down trailers and blown out windows. The only nice house we saw for miles was a stone house that is now nothing but a burnt-out hulk. Then there was the Baptist Church, with what looked like the preacher unlocking the door – all dressed in black, hat, coat, pants, plus his two kids.

There’s not a lot to work with in this harsh, unyielding, unforgiving place. What living there is seems etched on the faces of the people. We stopped for gas in Costillo and the fresh face of the young girl behind the counter popped out in contrast to the leathery, deeply-wrinkled men and women filling up outside.

We arrived in camp as the last glow of the sunset disappeared. The campground we’re at now is a truly magnificent setting. Long hike ahead tomorrow into the canyon to fish for trout.

NM: 9/26, 9:45 PM
Yikes. I just looked down at my feet and saw a black widow take out a cricket the size of my thumb not eight inches from my bare ankle. Tim comes over to check it out and then nearly jumps out of his Chacos when I touch a blade of grass to the back of his leg. “I love the desert,” he says (once he stops cursing me out), “but man there’s a lot of stuff here that can kill you.” Then he tells me it’s tarantula migration season. Great. I doublecheck my tent to make sure the door is zipped up. “Sweet dreams,” he says. Paybacks are a b*tch.

You can see more photos from Day Three of this expedition (and find new journal updates as they are posted) by clicking here.

Riding the Rio Grande: Day Two

Online Editors — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 14:57:18 -0500

Last fall, Field & Stream Online Editor Nate Matthews and his father, Bruce, spent 15 days fishing the Rio Grande River from its headwaters in Colorado to its mouth at the Gulf of Mexico. These excerpts from their journals tell the story of their 2500-mile motorcycle ride along the historic river. Photographer Tim Romano documented the excursion. You can see more photos from Day Two of this expedition (and find new journal updates as they are posted) by clicking here.

NM: 9/25, 6:30 AM
Just woke up. Last night was a haul. As I wrote in my journal yesterday, we spent more time than we should have picking up the bikes from the dealership they'd been shipped to in Colorado Springs, and so we didn’t leave for the headwaters until four in the afternoon. The sun was setting right into our eyes as we headed out of town. I woke up this morning with a sore back, a sore butt, and a crick in my neck from riding with my helmet tipped sideways so that the corner of my visor blocked the worst of it.

Dad’s up now, too, and moving pretty slowly. Riding at night takes it out of you.

BM: 9/25, 6:30 AM
Coffee. Need coffee.

NM: 9/25, 7:30 AM
Just packed our gear back into the truck for the rest of the ride up to the divide. I’m writing as Tim waits for it to warm up. It’s cold out here!

It took us six hours last night before we finally called it quits. We stopped in a town called South Fork, which is about 20 miles south of where you turn off onto the dirt road that follows the river up to the Continental Divide. South Fork wasn’t where we’d hoped to spend the night — the plan had been to camp right at the headwaters so we could fish the river there in the morning. But fatigue is a killer, especially at night, so we called it early (if you can call 10:00 PM early) and stayed in a motel instead.

The ride was as beautiful as it was difficult, even in the darkness. Winding curves unfolding in the cone of our headlights, mule deer and pronghorn by the side of the road, coyotes dashing in front of our bikes. And cold, especially over the high passes. A full moon was rising behind the nearby peaks, showing them in sillhouette against the stars. We saw one huge meteor falling over the road. I was missing Jonathan and sang him lullabies as I rode. Singing inside your helmet is like singing in the shower, only you don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of your wife.

BM: 9/25, 7:30 AM
Can’t believe we drove all that way in the dark last night. Perception envelope shrank way down – 70 MPH – and yet I felt safe. Critters, road hazard, fatigue notwithstanding. I think it was prayer. It was as if I was passing through, yet nothing could touch me.

BM: 9/25, 8:45 AM
We left the motel an hour ago and are now sitting in a café on the road to Creede, the last major town before the headwaters, eating breakfast with Pete Kieliszewski, one of Tim’s buddies. He guides at a ranch nearby and has offered to show us where to fish the Rio in the tight water below the divide. It’s a beautiful morning outside. 30s. Colorado landscape is amazing. Mountain peaks, red rock outcrops, irrigated valleys.

NM: 9/25, 10:30 AM
Pete is cool. Funny, interesting, full of tips and stories. You can tell by the way he talks that he makes friends easily. Which is a pain right now, because everyone in Creede wants to chat with him while we’re picking up licenses and groceries. It’s burning time, and we’re on a tight schedule. I hate to be the bad guy but we don't have time to spare, so I try to keep everybody moving. Hope we make it all the way up to the top with daylight to fish.

NM: 9/25, 12:45 PM
Finally getting somewhere. We’re on a forest service road that runs up the upper river to the headwaters. Just pulled over to the side of the road, on a cliff overlooking one of the reservoirs the Rio’s headwater streams flow into. We’re waiting for Tim, who can’t help but stop often to shoot the scenery, which is fantastic. The aspens are peaking. On fire.

NM: 9/25, 2:00 PM
We just dodged a major disaster. The further up this road we’ve gone, the nastier it’s gotten. We were almost to the place where we planned to stop and fish this afternoon when it happened. I was riding ahead and had just rounded a nasty, off-camber switchback with bare rock on the inside of the turn. It's the kind of slow-speed obstacle you have to counter-weight to get around, pretty challenging if you're still riding tense. Dad was behind me, and as I slowed down to watch him take the turn I saw him take a nasty slow-speed header. I think he got nervous and hit the front break halfway through the turn, and of course that pulled the whole thing into the dirt. “I almost got a facefull of gravel,” he says afterward, and he’s got deep scratches on his helmet to prove it. He’s also limping. I guess he banged his knee pretty good.

He’s shaken, but ok. So is the bike. He still wants to fish. The old man is tough.

NM: 9/25, 4:45 PM
With all the trouble we’ve gone through to get here you’d think the fish would cooperate. But they have other ideas today. We’ve been flogging water all afternoon in the uppermost reaches of the river, just below the Continental Divide, in a high mountain valley filled with thick willows and a web of moose trails. It looks like top-notch habitat, but none of us have been able to draw a bump. Not even Pete, who fishes here all the time. He can’t tell us what the problem is. Maybe it's too bright. Maybe it's too cold. Maybe the browns are in spawning mode and bunched up somewhere on the river we haven't found yet. I’m bummed that we won’t get fish photos for the story in such a gorgeous place.

NM: 9/25, 5:30 PM
Dad called it quits and limped back to where we parked a few minutes ago. I fish for a bit longer, then pack it up and hike out to meet him. He’s napping on a grassy bank by where we parked the bikes, watching the sun go down. I lean back next to him and we sit together and listen to elk bugling in the fading light. Aspens are glowing in the low light, an avalanche of color grown up to fill out the path of a rock slide. The year’s first snow dusts the peaks.

He looks tired. I hope we haven’t bitten off more than we can handle. We've got a serious ride planned for tomorrow that'll take all day, and then some. Need to get back to camp and put some food in everybody.

BM: 9/25, 7:00 PM
Nate’s making dinner. Tim’s making coffee. I’m exhausted. I’m beat to a frazzle. I can’t wait for bed.

I’m hoping not to disappoint Nate.

You can see more photos from Day Two of this expedition (and find new journal updates as they are posted) by clicking here.