June 27, 2025
Before It’s Too Late
There’s a quiet honor in fishing with the ones who first showed us how to cast a line. Maybe it was your dad, an uncle, a neighbor—the weathered hands that tied your first fly, the patient voice that said, “Let it drift.” They’re the reason we fell in love with the rhythm of the water, the tug of a fish, and the peace of early mornings on the river. But time catches up, even with legends. Waders don’t fit like they used to. Launching a boat becomes a two-person job. The old guys—the ones who taught us—can’t always get out there alone anymore.
So here’s the call: give back
Take them fishing. Row for them. Tie their flies if their fingers shake. Just be there. It’s not about the fish anymore—it’s about honoring the connection that brought you to the water in the first place. And while you’re at it, teach a kid. Pass it on. The best way to preserve fly fishing isn’t through gear or grip-and-grins—it’s through memories shared and knowledge handed down. The river moves on. But before it does—take the old guy. Teach the kid. Do it before it’s too late.
Prayers go out for my friend. Don Cherserek who suffered heart problems at Pyramid Lake. during a Fishout last week. Still in critical condition after open heart surgery in Reno. One of the founders of the San Jose Flycasters.
If you know Dan, it time to call him and take him fishing….
Fishing With a Legend (and 50 Dinks Later…)
Finally—a free day to chase some local stripes! The wind had backed off just enough to make a cast without looking like I was auditioning for a kite show. That was my sign: time to call in the big guns. So I rang up Dan Blanton—the OG of OFB (O’Neill Forebay), the godfather of the San Jose Flycasters, and a man who’s tied more iconic flies than I’ve made bad decisions before coffee.
I could tell from his voice, he was teetering on the edge. Hadn’t wet a line since our last trip three months ago, and his sanity was hanging on by a tippet. I told him I was heading to the Forebay—hadn’t fished it since January—and asked if he wanted in. The man said yes so fast, Siri was still trying to translate.
Plan locked: I’d swing by at 7:30 a.m. and we’d go on a good old-fashioned striper hunt.
Our buddy Frank had dropped a tip: the dink stripers were stacked in the shallow flats near the bridge and the islands, gorging like college kids at a buffet. I figured Dan would be more into quantity over quality today—lots of pulls, maybe a couple of legal slabs, and the sweet sound of drag zzzzing instead of crickets. Hopeful but realistic: the fish gods can be moody.
Before the trip, I’d heard some tough news—another buddy from the San Jose Fly Casters had a stroke and heart attack while fishing Pyramid Lake. Poor guy ended up with a triple bypass and valve job in Reno because Medicare apparently thinks “local hospital” means 400 miles away. Last I heard, he’s stable but in rough shape. It hit me: some of the guys I love to fish with might never make it back on the water. It really brought home that old line: “Live every day like it’s your last.” For Don, fishing Pyramid might’ve been just that.
Anyway, back to the water. First stop: the powerhouse rock wall. We gave the spot a fair shot, casting around the spillway and down to the curve like pros… or at least, like hopeful amateurs. Results? Two fish, both of them an inch shy of the frying pan.
Next up: the tire piles. Fish were there—lots of ‘em—but they wouldn’t chase. Lazy freeloaders. So we took Frank’s advice and headed to the flats around 10:00. That’s when things lit up.
Everywhere we found a little deep water in the weeds, we found fish. And not just a few—a full-blown dinkapalooza. At one point I went 5-for-5 casts with hook-ups. Dan and I were grinning like fools, doubling up left and right, counting fish instead of calories. We ended the day with about 50 stripers, all in the 15–17 inch range. They fought like wild trout on espresso and made us feel like kids in a ball pit—pure, flopping joy. Best part? Around the island, Dan nailed a fat 20-incher, and I followed up with its identical twin. We both got that look in our eyes—the “ohhh there’s more here” look. And sure enough, pound the spot a bit and a couple more thumpers came out to play. And while age might have softened his memory, he still casts with purpose—and hasn’t hooked me once this year, which is all I ask from a true friend.
But the highlight wasn’t the fish—it was fishing with Dan. I’ve known him over 40 years, and somehow, every time we’re on the water, I learn something new. The guy’s not just a fishing buddy—he’s a living chapter of fly fishing history. He is a legendary figure in the world of fly fishing—an acclaimed instructor, author, lecturer, and outdoor photographer whose influence spans more than 50 years. A true pioneer, he developed groundbreaking tackle techniques like sinking and shooting-head lines and designed iconic saltwater fly patterns such as the Whistler, Sar-Mul-Mac, and Sea-Arrow Squid. His innovations revolutionized how anglers approach deep, fast-moving water, especially for species like striped bass. Blanton’s legacy is equally rooted in education and conservation—he’s written extensively as an editor and columnist for top-tier publications, and he founded DanBlanton.com, a global hub for fly anglers that gave rise to Striperfest, a celebrated conservation fundraiser. Honored by multiple Halls of Fame, Dan’s impact continues to ripple through every cast made by those who follow in his wake.
