fishing for words

(and tossing out random thoughts)


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gotta get me a gig like that

It’s clear that someone missed the boat when it came to choosing a career path.

While the ASVAB would point me towards logistics in the U.S. Army and local community college’s career assessment would suggest fish and game warden or interior designer carpenter, not once was it revealed that scratching out a living in a rock and roll or funk or reggae band might nicely dovetail with fly fishing.

A story in The Destin Log tells of how Justin Powell’s four-piece Fly Brothers Band arose from “…this silly idea of forming a band so we could go around and fish all these hotspots.”

There’s an elegant simplicity to it — get paid to play all night then wake up and play on the water during the day. Sure, a few morning hatches might be missed thanks to the occasional and probable hangovers that come with the job.

It seems, however, that the monkey’s thrown the wrench into Mr. Powell’s plans…success may poison his plans. With real work comes dusty fly rods.


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it starts

STUDENT DRIVER ALERT

The following All Points Bulletin was issue on September 12, 2008
CURRENT STATUS: Alarming

INFORMATION REGARDING RELEASE OF NEW (PROBATIONARY)
DRIVER ON THE PUBLIC ROADS OF THE UNITED STATES

ADAM K.

AGE: 15½ | HT: 5’9” (175.3 CM) | WT: 157 LBS. (79.3 KG)
HAIR: BROWN | EYES: BROWN

ADAM IS A SOPHOMORE STUDENT AT ST. PATRICK-ST. VINCENT HIGH SCHOOL IN VALLEJO, CALIFORNIA, WHO REFUSES TO STOP GROWING AND AS A CONSEQUENCE HAS BEEN GRANTED A PROVISIONAL DRIVING PERMIT. HE WAS LAST SEEN FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2008 AT APPROXIMATELY 1845 HOURS LEAVING HOME IN THE TOWN OF BENICIA IN THE COMPANY OF A SWEET SISTERS DRIVING INSTRUCTOR IN A LATE-MODEL BURGUNDY FORD MUSTANG. FOUL PLAY IS NOT SUSPECTED THOUGH HIS PROVISIONAL DRIVING PERMIT WAS DISCOVERED TO BE MISSING AND MAY BE IN HIS POSSESSION. IT IS POSSIBLE THAT HE MAY BE ATTEMPTING TO CONTROL THE VEHICLE.


If you have any information regarding the whereabouts of Adam and when he might be driving on public roads please alert family members and friends and give him a wide birth.


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Eastern Sierra here we come

Cool nights, fog in the morning and a flip of the calendar hint that’s it time to pack up and climb over Sonora Pass.

This time next week it’ll be prime time in the Eastern Sierra. A bunch of us fly club members will attempt to float flies between the weeds at Hot Creek, chase big-shouldered rainbows and browns in Crowley Lake and otherwise whip various waters trying to entice that one or two or seven fish that will grant us memories and a story that’ll keep us warm all winter long. Tying flies will be the mandate for the coming week. (Figure to mitigate the wife’s comment that last time she looked my fly box was full very simply with the purchase of another.)

The only worry is exposing my lack of casting skill to the eyes of others who actually know me and will have opportunity to later comment on the hilarity of it all. Hopefully catching fish will distract them long enough for me to somehow wet a line and maybe, and by the grace of God, fool a fish.


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don’t mess with the man’s domain

As part of his on-going War on Four-Footed Terrorists — wherein my father ensures that most manner of critters will win free relocation for stepping foot in his yard — he’s sent out notice of the capture of his first raccoon. Seems you can take the man out of law enforcement but you can’t take the law enforcement out of the man.

Wear a mask, go to prison.


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new blog on the block from the “other side” of the family

Since my cousin was kind enough to give advance warning — and once and a while turns a funny phrase or two — we’ll give his new The Wanderings of GRYWHL blog a plug from the Konoske side of the family aisle.

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There’s no doubt that Bill’s accounts of his and his wife’s wanderings down to and in the lower 48 from the “confined space” unabashed luxury of a thirty nine foot and eleven inch Itasca motor home will give rise to a bit of envy among we-who-still-must-earn-a-living.

Then, in only his second post, Bill shamelessly drives the stake a bit deeper…

For those of you that are wondering where we’re ultimately moving to, or whether we’re returning to Alaska, we’ve finally reached the point where we’re OK with saying that we just don’t know. Over the years, we’ve changed our minds so many times (I believe the official estimate was 463 at last count) that I think we’ve given friends and family mental whiplash, so we’re finally just saying that as soon as we know, you will too.

Wish we all could be that “OK.”

Thankfully, Bill’s blog will be countered with more truthful accounts complemented with alternative tales of their aimless trek across the North American continent by his wife’s four-month-old blog: Birding and Other Chatter.

See you in the blogsphere.


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trout and a/c

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There truly is no place like a cold tailwater for hiding from the heat.

A little trout fishery near the cabin offered a (literally) cool escape from the scorcher that hit the Saturday of Labor Day weekend ’08. Willing rainbows and brookies provided the entertainment. They even taught my fly-fishing-student-for-the-day a thing or two ‘bout fly fishing.

Credit for the teaching goes to the trout ‘cause though certainly cheaper that any guide around, limited knowledge and an inclination to flog the water with my own line severely handicapped any willingness to offer long or detailed instruction.

Our arrival streamside fell towards the later part of the early morning, limiting our initial wade-in an oft-ignored but fun and fish-filled run. Narrow and fast, it’s a great classroom for learning the drift-and-lob nymphing technique. Being deeper there’s no sight fishing here and it offers a lesson in keeping they eye on the indicator. Plenty of bank, a few boulders and a nice tailout make for unpredictable takes.

Take those trout did. No more than a dozen drifts and the first lesson of the day was on. We both were students that day. Happy to report, Richard received an almost nonstop tutorial in hooking and landing trout and a nearly unhealthy amount of schooling in LDR1. My lesson plan for the day seemed to center around the ease with which trout can throw a size 22 hook.

Had hoped to offer a lecture and example of fishing dry flies but insect hatches apparently get a pass for the last long weekend of summer.

But the day went well. We had the creek to ourselves from mid-morn on, the heat was kept at bay and the fish came out to play.

Don’t know if Richard found that “Fly-fishing is the sweetest of addictions.”2 or perhaps that “The truth is fly fishing is folly; useless, unreasonable, irrational and without purpose.”3 Mabye a little bit of both.

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As for me, I’ll follow the trout in the dog days of summer.

Trout live where you don’t need A/C.


1long-distance release, not the preferred method of catch-and-release fly fishing.
2Nick Lyons, Confessions of a Fly Fishing Addict (Atlantic Monthly Press, April 1999).
3Ailm Travler, “Fly Fishing Folly,” Uncommon Waters: Women Write About Fishing, (Seal Press; 2nd ed., February 18, 1998), 208.