I have a confession to make. I have been reading many of your blogs. You don’t know this, because I don’t comment much. My wife disagrees, but often I don’t feel my words will add much to the conversation. I lurk, looking for writing that will take me away from the everyday, writing that will inspire, now and again enjoying others’ stories about water I hope to fish, and some that I probably won’t.

I won’t pretend that my encouragement will reach that many eyes. But, occasionally and perhaps more than admitted, blogging isn’t about catering to readers; it’s about the act of writing. This post, itself, is a modest reaction to a claim on [name redacted]’s another blog that “…99% of fly fishing blogs are boring…” and have followed “…the boring/cyclical path of print.” This seems an unfair assessment, though it is unclear whether this judgment and call for bloggers to “…put it all out there…” is leveled at blogs in general and includes those written by the vast majority who fly fish when they can, and for whom their blog is a hobby and another welcome diversion.

While these charges offer valid advice for all writers, the simplicity of launching and maintaining a blog has redefined freedom of expression. It’s clear that the intention behind some blogs is a simple sharing of experiences with family and friends, and the occasional visitor. They may be written for the joy of the task itself, or to satisfy ego, record for posterity, or to push an idea, belief, or agenda into or onto the world. (Or perhaps, as a response to something read somewhere else?) This blog grew out of ego years ago, initially as a website, to share my life with those few who might be interested. Sure, I’m grateful when more than three readers visit in a week, but this has evolved into a more permanent record, a journal of sorts, through which even I occasionally revisit old memories.

I’d also respectfully submit that many bloggers could be considered the essayists of today, making observations of daily life. It’s easy to recall more famous essayists such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Sarah Margaret Fuller, Arthur Miller, Jonathan Swift or John Updike. But for each one of these writers, many others shared anonymous and perhaps less polished observations and opinions in leaflets, pamphlets, or other media that has since disappeared.

In one respect, blogging is a most public form of learning, with all of one’s mistakes on display. It’s inherent in the learning process that bloggers might unconsciously test styles used by others as they find their way, leading to a sameness. Writing, particularly regularly and regularly well, can be difficult. It requires a well of ideas, opinions, and experiences. These experiences may be limited, and not everyone cares to divulge every personal hiccup in their life. Here I decided early on that certain topics would be verboten; a voluntary limitation on “raw honesty.” I’d suspect this is true with other bloggers. (I can’t help but wonder if in today’s world the term “raw honesty” no longer has any real meaning.)

More widely read bloggers have a better understanding of communal attraction of wistfulness and humor and how rooting posts in common experiences can make writing memorable without need for flowery language and a vast vocabulary. These are plain ideas not so easily applied. And, frankly, I don’t expect this level of writing in every blog, understanding that countless blogs were started out of passion, not because the author was a writer.

Blogs become my favorites simply because the writing or topics touch me in some way. At times I want to escape through the eyes of another, especially when I can’t fish. There’s an attraction in stories that offer differing perspectives of familiar or nearby places. Many times it’s merely catching up with the goings on in a friend’s life.

Reading over what I’ve written here, I asked, “Is this raw honesty?” Honest, yes. Raw, no; that’s just not me. I’m just a regular guy, working a job, with a family, who fly fishes when he can, usually less than he hopes; and for whom his blog is writing and sharing without expectation. Judge my blog as you will.

P.S. A discussion with a friend about whether the wording of this post should be strengthened, interestingly enough, led to an answer in the understanding that being true (honest) to my style offered a subtle metaphor.

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And though the USDA website notes…

Climate changes are usually based on trends in overall average temperatures recorded over 50-100 years. Because the (new map) represents 30-year averages of what are essentially extreme weather events (the coldest temperature of the year), changes in zones are not reliable evidence of whether there has been global warming.

- via USDA Agricultural Research website

…the new hardiness map shows a decided shift north nationwide.

And while these warmth loving plants won’t give triffids any competition, by the time they show up next to my favorite trout waters, it’s likely the trout will be gone and the water rendered unfishable by an invasion of members of the Centrarchidae family.

The USDA interactive map can be seen here.

It wouldn’t be too difficult to cast from here, and you consider it, but you are new to the sport and the desire to properly and softly present the fly requires a few more steps. The trout slowly and quietly slurp Baetis duns. You check your leader, eyeing its length and looking for any nicks or knots that would give away your fly as a fake.

You cast the fly into a seam you think will carry it past the closest edge of the feeding fish. The fly slips around one rock, then another. To keep the drift realistic, you lift your rod tip to keep as much line off the water as possible. Everything looks and feels right. The fly disappears, and without thinking, and an imperceptible pause, you set the hook. If time allowed, there’d be a debate as to who was more surprised, you or the fish.

All of this positioning and decision-making doesn’t take as long as it seems, except that it takes great effort to ensure that everything is perfect for the woman watching from the bank. She sits on a checkerboard blanket, the remnants of a picnic scattered about. Her classic beauty competes with the trout for your attention. She smiles, impressed, as the rainbow trout glistens in the sunlight, before you carefully return it to the water.

However, unless you’re luckier than the rest of us, reality is much different…even for better-looking people, particularly those who’ve just learned to cast a fly.

Ewan McGregor took Hollywood actress Emily Blunt fly fishing – and she ended up catching his dog.

The Crieff-born actor was in Scotland last year filming Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, about a fisheries scientist who tries to bring the sport to the Middle East.

Ewan was showing off his newly acquired casting skills to Emily…

He said: “All the actors stayed in this beautiful little house. They had a pond down at the bottom of the garden and some rods and both Amr Waked, who is also in the movie, and I had learnt to fly fish.

“We were showing off because we were trying to impress Emily with our fly fishing skills – ‘Look, you do it like this, don’t bendy our wrist, no, that’s right…’

“And she caught my dog who was running around behind. She hooked him. She didn’t catch any fish but she did catch my dog.”

- via DailyRecord.co.uk

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I’m leaving the checkbook and credit cards at home, carrying only enough cash for lunch.

I’m taking a cheaper simpler approach to the coming year that will be reflected in my fly fishing, though stopping short of tenkara. Last year didn’t go well, fishing wise, and changes on the job this year will bring incessant deadlines and blank pages in need of words. Anyone with a job today should be grateful, and I am, but it’s going to be tough to string together more than a few days off without risking some kind of pre- or post-vacation penalty. Big hopes for 2013 require planning. The fiscal reality is that dollars can stretch only so far. (Yes, I do feel some guilt that I won’t be helping a great deal to lift the fly fishing industry out of its apparent struggles, so it’ll be up to the rest of you this year.)

Much of the change this year can be blamed on my brother. Our conversations of late reminded me that what sticks with us most are the experiences of our life: riding our bikes as kids to the five ‘n dime or hiking the Sierra Nevada high country during family vacations. I don’t think we truly appreciated it at the time. The considerable value we now place on these experiences seemed to swell as our own children grew up.

So my visit to the ISE will be maddening, comprised of gear I won’t buy and guide trips I won’t take. There will be a visit with Derek Young, who I got to know as an unassuming and friendly guy before he was named 2011 Orvis Guide of the Year, some milling about various seminars, and likely encounters with other folks I’ve fished with.

My plans entail simplifying and diversifying. Much of my fishing will be refocused to waters near and not-too-far-from the family cabin in the Sierra foothills, something that’s long overdue. I’ll “make do” with gear I have and spend at least two long weekends there each month of the trout season. (My budget may allow for a very nice net handcrafted by a fly fishing club member and up for auction in April.)

It’ll be more about an exploration; a more mature approach in which satisfaction doesn’t hinge on numbers worth bragging about. There’s too much ground to cover in a single year, but the goal will be to cast flies to waters along the Highway 4 corridor, further up Highway 108, and on new stretches of the various forks of the Stanislaus River. All of those weekends should provide plenty of opportunity to spend more than a few days in the Walker River Basin; it’s only two hours away. There’s only one guide trip on the books (with Derek), and that may be the only one this year.

Dates have also been cleared on the cabin calendar for visits by my brother’s and sister’s families. And it’ll be darn nice if the wife — who recently rediscovered the detachment and contentment that can be found in the foothills — joins me more than a few times.

Diversification will mean revisiting diversions that aren’t enjoyed enough. Acting like tourists in our backyard, something started with our visit to Alcatraz last month. I’ll send the motorcycle seat out for a custom fitting more suited to longer rides. Rides that may or may not include fishing, and some that may include the wife.

You can chalk all of this up to wisdom gained with age, or — like me — simply decide to make the most with what you’ve got while you can.

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Sometimes it’s all about presentation. Doing everything, just so, being subtle, to sneak up on your quarry. Too many false casts or slapping the water will draw initial interest, but soon desensitize those who you most want interested in your offering. The same can be said of the latest and greatest fly fishing film; long before it’s screening in my neighborhood, I reach saturation through trailers and highlight reels, and articles and blog posts.

Obi-Wan Kenobi’s mentor Qui-Gon Jinn (Liam Neeson) fly fishes in real life; Ewan McGregor does so in “Salmon Fishing in The Yemen.”

There’s the stumbling through the muddled, pre-dawn darkness and the tentative stride, the missteps on mossy rocks. Stooped in a half effort to conceal my profile, I’ll select a fly. The selection is a combination of a modest understanding of entomology and gut feeling. And not every cast, particularly that first cast of the day, will offer the perfect presentation of the fly du jour. It takes me some time to work up to even a decent cast.

My first cast, tinged with too much expectation, sets the fly down too far away. I judge subsequent casts unacceptable or unworkable long before my line falls to the water. Often, it’s too long since I last wet a fly; but slowly, and with effort, a rhythm is rediscovered and precision returns. (Admittedly, my version of “precision” is plus or minus eight or nine inches or so.) Once again, a renewed focus on my cast displaces all that comes with everyday life.

That (almost) perfect always seems to sneak up on me; perhaps the result of not thinking about what’s being attempted. Simply, it feels right. The fly settles on that one current seam suspected to be a conveyer belt delivering bugs to an as-yet unseen trout.

The fly slips downstream, held steady by hope. A nose emerges. The fly disappears. Often, I’m more surprised than the trout.

That’s a bit how I feel about the trailer for “Salmon Fishing in The Yemen,” a movie based on the book by Paul Torday. It snuck up and surprised me with its upbeat hopefulness. Unlike “The River Why,” it was bandied about as the next version of “A River Runs Through It.”

“Salmon Fishing in The Yemen” has some star power and apparently some respect on the independent film tour, and seemingly is without the focus-group formulation that sucks the soul out of anything. There’ll be no admission to somewhat of a man crush on Ewan McGregor. See “Long Way Round” and you’ll understand — he comes across as a guy who’d saddle up the adventure bike for a day of fly fishing, followed by a friendly evening at the local pub.

Though always risky, judging by the trailer, the plot of “Salmon Fishing in The Yemen” echoes the hopefulness that’s all too often required of fly fishing without directly being a film about fly fishing. It’s got Mr. McGregor (as the fisheries biologist hired by a fly fishing-obsessed Yemeni sheikh to bring salmon to the wadis of the Yemen), Emily Blunt (as the Sheikh’s representative), Kristin Scott Thomas (as a British government spokesperson promoting the project to draw attention away from the government’s latest blunder), salmon, English charm and wit, and fly fishing. While it might benefit from a more mainstream title, I like the title; it’s likely to keep the riffraff out of the showing you know I’ll attend.

It’s nice to have a fly fishing flick to look forward to while waiting for Ms. Olive (the Woolly Bugger) to make it to the big screen.

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When you really, really want to avoid conversation...

Every grumpy (and not always old) fly fisherman holds something back when asked, “What fly you catchin’ em with?”

The younger more tech savvy fly fisher won’t even ask. …and that won’t be the drone of mosquitoes in your ears.

Sick and tired of spying on the neighbors the old-fashioned way? Good news, all. Interactive Toy Designs showed off two new products in its not-so-subtly named Wi-Spi line of remote control vehicles. Really driving the notion home is the Intruder, the name given to the little red sports car. The helicopter, on the other hand, is called just that, though we’re sure you can intrude upon people with the thing, if you really put your mind to it. Both vehicles have built-in cameras that beam live feeds to your iPhone or Android devices. You can also record the video and upload it instantly…

~ via Engadget.com

Given that technology has done wonders for the art of conversation, letter writing and maybe all social interaction, makes one wonder how long it’ll take before anglers’ once-well-respected, on-stream and on-the-spot ability to spin yarns of half truths begins to atrophy and die.