I Should Have Known Better.....

After watching programs like "I Should Not Be Alive", "Man vs. Wild", and "Never Again" for as long as I can remember Blair Edwards and I agree We should have known better. But the fishing was too good to care at the time.

Friday Night Blair Edwards and I decided to make a kamikaze trek up to the Sequoia National Park to explore a few new fishing spots. On its face we knew we were up for a grueling 24 hrs just because we were leaving late Friday, fish Saturday morning, pick up his trailer one hour away, head back up to fish the afternoon/evening and then drive back to Ventura County towing a trailer. If everything went to plan it was going to be rough, no matter what. to add to the heaping helping of fun we have never been to any of the places we were fishing, so the unknown was weighting heavy upon us.

After a late night of driving, discussions, food and refreshments we finally went to sleep about 2:30 or 3 am, not sure really when my phone and watch were in the cab of my truck. Jump 4ish hours later we were up with coffee and oatmeal brewing and stewing feeling a little wiped from the previous 12 hours events. We broke down camp and headed up Marble Creek for a few hours a fly fishing exploration. The beauty was for sure there, large boulders, small wandering stream, lots of poison oak, towering Oaks and Sycamore trees and medium sized trout to be had with minimal effort. Not great fishing, but good. Flash forward to 10am, "We should go." exclaims Blair as he casts into another pool trying to coax a Brook, Rainbow or Golden into a false meal of yarn, feathers and steel. 1015 am, "We really need to go!" declares Blair. So we say sure, and discuss the fastest way out of the canyon. This is the point of the day for me that we should have been taking cues from and would have saved us a larger headache later, but I digress lets finish Marble creek first.

We decided to see if we could find the trail above us, though neither of us had a map or even the slightest idea of where the trail was. So the bushwack begins, up-down, left-right, over and under, scratch, tear, poke, rattlesnake, and we should have just headed back down stream. But that would have been to easy.

Jump a few hours forward, we have been to Kingsburg, retrieved the trailer and an assortment of items for the Edwards kids and were headed back to the Sequoia National Park. We decided because of the heat to leave behind the waders and just wear shorts and wading boots only. Light and quick......our downfall. This is where the story becomes blog worthy.
To protect the spot from eager adventures I'll just say that we fished the Keweah River at the end of a dirt road. A little about the spot, there is no trail, no detailed info on the internet and absolutely no sign of human life of the river itself. It seems to only be frequented by bears, coyotes and small game, which is just the kind of place the gets me stoked to be outside.

So at the end of a nondescript dirt road we gear up,
Wading boots........................Check
Shorts.....................................Check
Thin Collard Shirt.................Check
Rod and Real.........................Check
Fly Box and minimal Gear..Check
CRKT Knife...........................Check
Unprepared for fishing
in late afternoon....................Priceless

Our only brief glimmer of wisdom was when Blair says, "Lets bring the map just in case." My reply "Ya sure, bring the topo." Everything our fathers, Backpacker Mag and Best Case Scenario game cards said were left there in the truck along with our better judgment at 330 pm in Western Sierra Nevada MOUNTAIN Range. We know the a creek is just ahead we we proceed to there, scurry down a few waterfalls, traverse a rock outcropping and eventually hit the river. Commence great fishing.

We proceeded to fish deep clear pools, short shallow rapid sections, sandy banks and I must say some of the most beautiful stretches of river I have walked in the Western Sierra's. Oh ya lot's of fish, wild Rainbows that are almost completely silver with black spots, sorry no pics left that in the truck as well. We know there were bear in the area because we found many areas were they have been taking bathroom breaks, usually on top of large boulders, weird honestly, but maybe they liked the view. So with bear, rattlesnake and the quickening of darkness on our minds we hit up the last hole on "The River". I will say that I was the one who caught the last fish, but the following events were no trophy for sure.

Lets set the scene,

Fade into two strapping young bucks who looked like the just walked out of a Patagonia catalog atop a towering waterfall. One looks like the ugly stepchild of a red-hard Grizzly Adams and the other a thrift store version of Bear Grylls with a beard. Dirt, grime, scrapes, thorns, stickers and bloody knuckles adorn them showing their dedication to the untouched river. The reality of their situation starts to set in. We are pretty far from our ride out of here and between us is a stretch of boulders and cliffs that we barely made it up. "So how are we going to get out?" we ponder. Enter the small glimmer of brilliance, the crude map. Upon studying the map and surrounding terrain we find the bend in the river that may be our ticket out of here and hopefully/prayfully prior to dinnertime for the bears and other large woodland creatures.

To the North of us is either 1/4 mile to 1/2 mile of steep terrain that is covered with thick trees and towering Sage. Our hope is a steep granite out cropping ahead about the same distance that we have already covered fishing (later verified via google earth this morning). We think that if we can get there before dark we have a chance to catch the trail that should be right above it. Commence the march through the river, up steep embankments, over boulders, through cracks, up more embankments when the river is impenetrable, back down them when the brush gets to thick, walk past more bear latrines then I cared to count and then to top off the trek, holding my rod in my mouth we wrap ourselves around a tree that rest 40ish feet about a waterfall to the base for the Granite out cropping. Of ya can't forget the fact that we walked along the top of the waterfall to get to the other side.
Passing our last bear nuggets we head up the hill in the quickly fading twilight, to our left what resembles the possible trail cutting the mountain side. Ahead of us steep rock littered with moss, slippery vegetation and the occasional yucca that seemed to find their way into our flesh very often on the accent. Our hike was becoming a death march of pain and blood with every foot we climbed. Did I mention that I had major knee surgery 2 months ago, no well that was feeling great to. Upon our arrival to the top of the rocks we are greeted with the largest game trail we have seen all day long. A thankful sight for sure because that meant we would be able to progress our way though dense undergrowth, but bad because we might come face to face with a ill tempered bear. As I became hung up for the thousandth time that day I hear a cry of victory from Blair and victory it was, the trail.

We reunited on the yellow brick road that was our ticket to water, food and safety. Darkness was nigh so after a quick exclamation of God provision in our journey we humped it back towards the trail head. We consistently let our presence be know to all the ne'er-do-wells of the animal kingdom through song, tribal grunts, loud conversation and movie quotes. If you haven't hiked though bear and rattler country in the dark before lets just say that it will test your nerves at times. To our great delight and we made it to the truck just as the last hint of light faded from the sky. The river fished, navigation skills tested, body worn we set out down the bumpy dirt road in search of a very large and very refillable glass of lemonade and piles of steaming barbecued meat to consume. Which we did.

Over diner we discussed our adventure, exhilorating, manly, dangerous, and very foolish. We are glad our fathers taught us how to be wise outdoors men and think on our feet, but we agreed that we should have been a little more prepared. But hey if we were then it would have been just another fishing trip and nothing more. Now we just need to drive home towing a trailer on 4ish hours of sleep and treking all day.....yawn.

Fishing for life

Few things in life move me the way that fishing does and not just any fishing, fly fishing. I first was exposed to fishing the way many men my age were, A River Runs Through It. I went to see the movie with my Uncle and my Father many many years ago in the theater and needless to say I was consumed with the art and beauty of fly fishing from that point on and though I many pick up a spinner from time to time it never has the same feel or rhythm that a fly rod has.
A flowing motion that starts with the wrist then transfers it's energy to the elbow next the arm and then then crescendo the upper body. Once the line has rested upon the surface it gently drifts, turns and flows down stream hoping to find its goal and German Brown nestled in the grasses, under the banks or inside the feeding lanes. There is a motion that is repeated countless times in an effort to find what you are searching for whether that is fish or an answer to a question that you are milling around in your mind. Simply throwing your line toward the water and expecting a strike every time is like flipping open a phonebook at random trying to find a phone number to your favorite restaurant, you might get luck, but most likely you will be going hungry that night.

My father loved the mountains so much and that is where I was taken to practice my love of the long rod. It was a place that he had said he could truly relax and slow down. Our spot is the Eastern Sierras around Bishop, CA. I have so many amazing memories of fishing, backpacking, hiking, camping and sitting around the campfire just the two of us. We fished the streams together so many times, at least once a summer if not much more. We watched the sun elevate over the snow capped mountains and followed the reseeding tide of night with groggy eyes and a hope of a good day at high altitude. Movements, hours, life went a little slower up there for us each day it seemed and that is the way we wanted it to be. Just the gentle breeze of the mountain air and a distant call of the meadow lark or the warning shouts of a Marmot filled the still and crisp air. Few times in my life I have been happier than those moments with my father, just him and I. The occasional tall green pine over our heads, the low hung sage bush and still peaceful lull that a creek makes will always remind me of my father. With each fish that I catch from now till the day I am called home to my heavenly Father, I will remember my dad. With each fly I present to a river, every time I unzip a tent and each footprint that I leave in the high country his legacy will always be on mind.
My Father taught me so much I do not know where to begin, he was my mentor, role model, boss, advisor, sounding board, and critic at times, but the type of father that pulled you in close with love each time. A whole lot to live up to for sure, but one thing is for certain I get to live these things out with my son Matt. This hope of sharing memories of backpacking and fishing with my son gives me hope to move forward with my family and life. Sharing with legacy that my father had passed on to me, so I could pass it on to Matt is nothing less of the grace of God. With humility and desire I look forward to taking Matt on our first trip together very soon. I miss you dad you were my best friend, but I am sorry Matt I believe has taken your place as I am sure I did with you.

Jealously, But the good kind.

A typical day for me starts off with a early alarm buzz at 4:30 am and I hazily roll out of bed, put on my workout cloths and I am off to the gym. No food, yet, no shower and not coffee, yet. I hop in Beth's Pilot, most of the time, flip on the seat heater, because that early in the morning the last thing I want to be is ice cold on my way to the gym. At the gym I am met by the same young college student, ditch my bag in my locker and I am off. One hour later I am done, showers, and with a banana in hand I head back home. 6:15 I am at home, start breakfast (thought at times I do head to LA) Matt comes down stairs and peeks around the corner, under the little coffee/banana holding basket that is on the counter. Smiles all around from him, normally a hug and the reliable "Want some'ten to eat!" grin that normally spills forth from his lips. I assure him that food is indeed on its way if he is patient and to tie him over a helping of milk will normally do the trick.



About 7am, Beth and Becca stroll down stairs with Becca's normal "B", or to those who do not understand Beccaneese, Banana. Matt is now starting his anarchist (or anti-christ?)destruction of downstairs, because a clean home is not fair to all and chaos is king in his mind. With a simple "Breakfast is readay a joyful "Yeah!" resounds throughout our home and South Oxnard. Today it was stuffed french toast. If you do not know what that is my recent recipe has been boysenberry and skim ricotta (much lighter and better texture that cream cheese and its re-c"o"at-a cheese). Smiles all around or rather stuff checked kids, with palms up asking for "MO". Apparently you can not make and "R" sound when you have a whole piece of French toast in your mouth. Usually this is about the time I make start my calls for work, Assistant, Boss (dad), Big boss (uncle) and co-worker (cousin). Though my cousin is usually not in the office till after 8:30 or 9am, but I like giving him a hard time that he is lazy and needs to start work earlier.
I look at my Blackberry, 5 to 10 emails, four of which are junk and the rest are homeowners whose lives are falling apart because their faucet is dripping or light bulb has gone out. Fire up the computer, sip coffee, tell Matt not to make train sounds while I am on the phone (with cut backs last year I had to move my office into already cramped home), and start my endless day of phone calls and problem resolution. Truly I am not a Superintendent, I am a high profile babysitter and ringmaster to the most morbid circus on earth. Tony and the one eyed monkey troop coming to a dirt lot near you.
For the remainder of the day, I am calling and calling and calling, then I go to a meeting either in Oxnard or LA, then I am calling and calling and calling.........and calling. I have an unlimited cell plan, I need it. I build homes, some large, some small, some complicated, some simple. I look at plans all day and think up ways to same my company money and time, but mostly money. I am in charge of multi-million dollar projects and I most of the time love what I do.

Why tell you all about this? All to say, I have a pretty unsatisfying career and I am envious of my wife. I normally spend my entire day having adult conversations about building large custom and trac homes, reviewing performance ratings of contractors, discussing the economy with really smart people and I am jealous that I can not talk to a pair of snot nose screaming memes all day. The best parts of my day are the mornings and the evenings, when I am home with my family. To shape the minds of young ones, and to direct their world views is infinitely more important and satisfying that building things out of wood, cement and paint. On any given day to be able to help direct them to righteousness is by far more honorable and important than what I accomplish in a lifetime. Proverbs 31 is the mantra for my wife and I must say she is doing a unbelievable job at it. I know though that I do get up before the sunrises and make breakfast, but hey, I like to cook a lot and I know she would if I did not insist on cooking most of the time. So other than that, she has it down and I guess she is submitting to my authority when I tell her I want to cook.



I am a blessed man for sure because I have a wife that I followed the calling of the Lord to give herself to the shaping of spiritual future and the physical well being of two kids that mean more to us that anything else on earth. Sacrifice and Love for flows from by home and that is why I keep coming back for more.

Where are we going and how are we getting there?

It is can be funny when you walk down memory lane, old photos, lost notes tucked into books and even old college papers that were outlining your current beliefs that you held tightly too. And you realize, "did I really have hair that long?", man I used "stoked" to much (still do), and did I really quote Puffy Daddy in my English class. It is in the past now and though I was would like to take back some of the things I did at times and what I wrote on occasion, but really it has made me who I am today.

Where did it all go? The hair, the lifestyle, the loneliness of not having someone to share you life with, oh ya I got married, a hair cut and sold my VW bus. So great where are we going now? Well it is hard to say exactly were we are going, but I can say that I do now that the Catalde family is being 'overhauled', by the grace of God daily. After meeting with a few friends recently we realized that we have been stalled for a while, a holding pattern of such. But we are free from that now, or at least we now are trying to move forward. Back to our first passions, Christ and sharing Him.

I wrote a paper in my senior year of college called Missionaries to the Ends of the Earth and it discussed perceived image of missionaries on the BBC. It depicted missionaries as a culture crushing mob that needs to be removed from the earth. Though there have been those who have gone out in vain to reach those who the believed were not a blessed as their race, there have been more that have gone with a humble heart and a passion for the lost. Soap and clothing do not cleanse and cover sin, only the blood of Christ does. I read it again tonight and I brought me back to college where I shaped my view of missions and who I am in Christ, a lost and depraved sinner that has only been redeemed by the Father of Creation. And it is my and now my families goal to spread his love to all those on earth.

Though we would love to enter the mission field tomorrow, we have not been given the open path from God to travel down that road. So the next best thing is to encourage and guide those who are around us to possible go and share the gospel in the place of us. If someday the Lord calls the Catalde family to live overseas to share the gospel we will gladly go, until that day we will encourage and when we can we will visit short term.

What does this all mean? Beth, Matt, Becca and I are praying through and beginning to explore different option in:
1.Encouraging Established Missionaries.
2.Develop Those who are preparing to go to the harvest.
3.Cultivate the passion of missions in the local church.
4.Ourselves travel to help where we can in other mission fields.

By no means are we set on the above agenda, but we are willing to explore where our family goes from here and by what means we pursue the adventure. So please pray for us and we will keep all informed of where we are going.

Tony

Shape (shaped, shaping, shaper)
–verb (used with object) 14. to give definite form, shape, organization, or character to; fashion or form.
. to couch or express in words: to shape a statement.
. to adjust; adapt: He shaped everything to suit his taste.
. to direct (one's course, future, etc.).

I have been occupying my time as of late with shaping surfboard in a rundown old shack in the back yard of Chets house. It has decent light and has just enough tools to make it fairly easy to shape a surfboard if one so wishes. That is exactly what I have been doing over the past two weeks, as stated above Shaping the Poly Urethane foam into a device that is meant for riding waves large, small, face or slow depending on the elements incorporated into the surfboard. I have been using powered planers, hand planers, sureforms, sanding screens, sanding block, rulers, gauges, and my lower back so I have realized (usually the next morning while I am getting out of bed).
While I have been shaping other than concentrating on the task at hand one has a lot of time on their hands to think about things. And while usually your mind wonders too and fro, from one thing to the next with no particular rational path at times you land on a string of rational and cognitive thoughts worth discussing with oneself and occasionally others. I was first thinking of what it would be like to have a conversation with a piece of foam while it was being shaped and the shear terror that it must be going through about being torn apart bit by bit. A little silly and slightly morbid I know, but here is where the rational and worthiness to share come into play. I was comparing that to my own shaping that I am undergoing from the father.
At times I am being planed with a high speed electric planer where large amounts of myself are being removed and refined. Other times is 220 grit sanding screen removing just small amounts of unwanted burs and ridges that the planer can leave behind, leaving a smooth beautiful surface. I know at times the situations that I am going though whether they are family, work, troubles, or trials I am being reformed from a block of useless foam into a useful tool that can honor God with riding the wave to glory. It may seem silly to some, using such metaphors, but it is what is relevant in my life at this time and is easy to understand to many others. Hope you all like the picks.

Peace and Presents of God

Yes I snaked the title from Brother Lawrence's Book, but it is fitting for the subject matter at hand. Being content with any and all situation that the Lord brings before you, really it is more than being content it is finding full contentment in all that is before you. In the case of Brother Lawrence it was being a monk and washing dishes for over 15 years every day and in my case it is coming to find joy in my station in life, most notably the health of my father.
There is a definite struggle every day to find the supreme joy in every situation that has been brought forth, but truly I am finding that more and more I am relying upon the Lord for the insurmountable joy that only comes from the comfort of leaning on the Father and Author of Creation. There is a hymn that has been a major part of my life for some time and now more than ever it is relevant to myself and my family.

In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise, give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus, give me Jesus
You can have all this world, but give me Jesus.

When I am afraid,
Oh when I am afraid,
Lord when I am afraid, give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus, give me Jesus
You can have all this world, but give me Jesus.

Dark midnight was my cry,
Dark midnight was my cry,
When dark midnight was my cry, give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus, give me Jesus
You can have all this world, but give me Jesus.

When I come to die,
Oh when I come to die,
Lord when I come to die, give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus, give me Jesus
You can have all this world, but give me Jesus.

If you were still wondering the status of my Father things are not progressing like we would like, the cancer has grown in the liver and in the lymph system. Because of that the doctors have taken him off Torasel and he is currently searching for another treatment.

I won't lie to anyone it is not the most ideal situation, but I will say that I am doing very well in spite of the current situation. I have come to the realization that it would be selfish of me to want to hold on to Christ's bride. If God is calling one of his home who am I to stand in the way of creator of my life. I am thankful for the time that I have been given with my father and for all the things that he has taught me like, construction, hunting, backpacking, and fishing (but I had to teach myself the sanctified way of fly fishing). These things really get me stoked when I think that I am going to be passing these things on to Matt and the memories that him and I will build together.

So where does this leave me, I am thankful for every second that I have spent with my father and I am going to do everything possible to continue building more memories. I know from the dawn of time God knew what was going to happen and I am more than okay with that, I have freedom in that knowledge. Praise to the author of creation.

Toxicodendron diversilobum

Toxicodendron diversilobum- (Poison Oak) it is infectious, spreads by a person touching the leaves, stems or roots. It is not spread by touching other people who have it or by scratching a rash. Other myths are that if the plant is dead it can no longer affect you, wrong, the plant has an something called urushiol oil which is gives people the rash. This past weekend the entire camp was littered with the stuff and if you diverted from the path for on second you would be entangled into a mire of criss-crossed plant known for its trinity of leaves.
This plant has effected me profoundly in the past week for a number of non-physical reasons, one being that I have found that though I am suffering from its effect. Not physically suffering from its potent cocktail, but similarly suffering from similar effects of rash, boils, and red irritation of the soul. In the past few years I have constantly struggled with the psychological warfare within my mind of a non-commitment to Christ in all areas of my life. From time to time I have been able to separate myself from the rash and red stain so common with this sin, but not two weeks ago.
I know my own pit falls and the things that cause myself to struggle and fall and instead of waring against those things I let the enemy encampment lie at my doorstep. I failed my God, my family and myself.

Thomas Dylan-

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I will fight on! I will fight on! I will not go gentle into the night letting the sin over come me! Rage! Rage! Rage!