At the mercantile store that I owe my employment is a collection box for the Marine Corps Reserve "Toy For Tots" program. This morning I couldn't help but notice how forlorn the collection box looked - it was completely empty. Seeing this sight was more that this soul could bear so I scheduled a break to obtain a gift for some boy or girl.
Deciding what kind of gift to give was easy - I wanted to give the gift of fly fishing. Here at my prairie home there is only one of the big retailers and from the past I knew they always carried those inexpensive Shakespeare fly fishing beginner kits. The kits have a rod, reel, line, leader, and some flies. There is really no quality to anything in the kit, but, for a kid starting out they are almost perfect.
At the fishing section of the big retailer, disappointment set in early. Ol' big retailer did not have one single offering of any beginner fly fishing kits.
Pausing for thought, I realized what I was really wanting to give was the gift of fishing itself. The majority of us that fly fish today didn't start out fly fishing. Some of us are old enough to remember fishing with cane poles and bobbers. At my grandfathers home cane poles were all we had and we were happy to have that.
Big retailer had seven or eight different beginning fishing kits so my reasoning was to get one of these in hopes that it would spark interest in a boy or girl child somewhere. If that happened, then the day they might evolve to fly fishing could possibly come.
At the checkout stand I pay Markel and head back to the mercantile store where I placed the fishing kit in the Toy For Tots box - a box no longer empty. Soon after that, two fellow employees came up and handed me $40.00 and said they wanted to donate gifts also. The box is slowly filling up.
Having personally participated in the Marine Corps Toy For Tots program in the 1970s, I can tell you it is a good solid program where 100 percent of gifts donated go to the intended recipients - children.
So, I'd like to say to all the brothers and sisters of this culture we call fly fishing, if you see a Toy For Tots collection box somewhere near you, consider giving the gift of fishing this Christmas season.
I made a conscious decision today to make this a non-fishing day. In hindsight it looks like that was the right decision with the rather nasty weather encountered today - northerly winds up to 40 m.p.h. with rain.
Yesterday was the infamous day known as Black Friday. Ah yes, Black Friday... the day that some shoppers get too excited and caught up in the frenzy and decide to pepper spray their fellow humankind, or trample them at the entry, call in a bomb scare, and even worse shoot someone.
Always having removed myself along with my rather not-so-temperate mood in crowded situations, I've always started my Christmas shopping the day after Black Friday, and therefore a trip to the big city was on the tab today.
Miss Carol is an outdoorsy kind of girl and likes outdoor-fashioned clothing - clothing lines such as Bob Timberlake, Natural Reflections, and The North Face. In the big city is Bass Pro and they handle every needful thing that Miss Carol requires, so it made sense to start my shopping there. In addition, I didn't see anything wrong with combining a Christmas shopping trip with a trip to re-supply a badly depleted fly fishing/fly tying arsenal.
As far as the fly fishing and fly tying stuff, I had two goals in mind - things that these days are considered essential gear in this fly fishing life. Since this body doesn't do the things it use to and the balance and coordination no longer allow for rock hopping, a wading staff was on the top of my personal shopping list today. Secondly, I wanted to replenish material to tie flies for the upcoming carp season.
Now, I knew that wading staffs could be pricey little devils, but, through self-talk and great visualization on the trip up, I could see myself opening the wallet and as the moth's ascended and hovered above the deepest and dark recesses of the money holder I would pluck a good number of Jackson's to purchase said wading staff.
Bass Pro didn't have any wading staffs. First disappointment of the day.
Now, at the fly tying section, there were two main items the carp-by-fly lives of Charlie and myself required. You would think that a fly shop would handle more than two sizes of curved caddis hooks, but, that wasn't the case today for me.
Then, I started searching for krystal eggs that can be slipped on a hook. I come up with an idea for a new twist on a carp fly recently, but... no krystal eggs either.
So, I bought some fly line cleaner, a bucktail, blood quill marabou, and a few other things and then went to the ladies apparel section.
The Natural Reflections line of clothing seem to put Timberlake and North Face to shame today. Miss Carol will be receiving a good and varied wardrobe of Natural Reflections this Christmas.
On the way back from the big city it came across my mind how poorly I had done in my shopping quest today. Poorly I say, and that's not mentioning the thirty-five dollars in pony feed I had to buy to keep the schooner ponies at full gallop.
I would have been better off to stay at my prairie home, save the thirty-five dollars in pony feed, while most likely being able to get everything I needed or wanted and get free shipping by shopping on-line.
In the competitive market of retailers these days, a good number are offering free shipping. L.L. Bean is one that comes to mind and I've always loved L.L. Bean products.
Sometimes... I really have by head up my arse. From here on... it's on line shopping.
For sure, today was going to be a non-fishing day for me because of the requirement the mercantile store had for me.
However, around mid-morning a favorable circumstance came my way - so favorable it would put me on the river Blue within the hour.
If I were to go into detail regarding this favorable circumstance I would certainly be incriminating myself and the result might turn out to be me standing in the unemployment line.
The event would place me in the community of Tishomingo and when we are in Tishomingo we are just ten minutes away from the river Blue
Of course I went. Why wouldn't I? The waders, boots, rod, fly packs and all the other stuff required was already in the schooner and it didn't take much convincing that what I was about to do was a perk.
Today on the river I wanted to fish a place called Ted's Pool. Ted's pool is a long, wide, and quite deep pool directly above Horseshoe Falls. Ninety percent of Ted's Pool is way too deep to wade, however, the downstream end is more shallow and full of rock structure - structure the trout think they can hide. Hide they may try, but if you put your fly in the right spots and employ the right presentation, the trout will come to you as they did today in my short time fishing.
Horseshoe Falls
Ted's Pool is above Horseshoe Falls
Soon after entering the drink at Ted's Pool, there was the pleasure of some company across the way - company in the form and fashion of a young fly-fishing couple. I like that. There's something special about couples that fly-fish together.
And as you can see this fly-fishing duo was finding the bows also.
It was such a beautiful day on the river today. I could have stayed all afternoon. But, even as favorable as the circumstance was, that got me to the river today, luck shouldn't be stretched.
With an olive bodied bugger with a bi-color tail of olive and yellow I caught a few trout. Then, I took a few pictures and left the river a happy man.
Thanksgiving morning certainly wasn't shaping up to be a Bluebird day - wet and damp, hazy to foggy, gray and ovecast with enough southerly wind to make the body uncomfortable. It was hard to tell if this was a perfect day for trout fishing or a perfect day to not sit around the bunkhouse and be bored to tears.
Indecision has never been a vice I own and it wasn't long until I was in the prairie schooner slapping leather across the ponies backsides setting sail for the river Blue.
These days I take a more eclectic approach to fly fishing. I enjoy planning the trip, trying to imagine exactly what fly will be fished and where, and then... there is the voyage itself.
Each trip starts out pretty much the same... taking a sea-lane of hardended concrete.
Always, at the first opportunity a sea-lane consisting of a dirt road is taken. Something about dirt roads that seem to call this fly angler.
On the voyage I stopped by the old west town known as Sipokni West to see what the townfolk there had going on. However, town was vacant - guess they all loaded in the wagons and went somewhere else for Thanksgiving.
Shortly thereafter, I cross Pennington Creek and stopped to see how this little beauty was doing. Little Sister, as I call her, lost a lot of herself this past summer - growing thin and looking drawn. Today though, she looked to be filling out once again.
One of the main reasons for coming to the river Blue today was because of the conflicting reports received about the river's conditions. Right after this week's rain it was reported the river was murky and may get worse. Then yesterday came a report that the river was just a little murky, but fish-able. Today when I got to see the river for myself it was, "Blow me down - shiver me timbers!" This river is clear as a bell! Clear and extremely fish-able.
The trout at the first run of water I fished wasn't interested or frisky at all. And... that was okay with me because I wan't feeling very frisky myself having to fight a chest and head cold. Spooling up, downstream water calls me and on the way there I find a recently abandoned campsite with a campfire still going. I don't know who left the campfire, but, it was very inviting and I appreciate finding it. Stopping at the campfire, I take a seat by the fire and enjoy a cold beer. Nothing like a cold beer on a brisk cold day.
After the drink is disposed of, I step into the stew headed for the boulder above Seventeen. Here, the trout are willing and are feeling frisky. Almost as soon as the water is split I sense a drop in temperature and that makes for the decision to give the trout the fly low and slow - deeper in the column and a slower action. This presentation seemed to be what the trout wanted.
The trout today had some surprising size to them . No, they weren't big by any means but they were a pound and half that fish. And, another surprise was how many of them showed the characteristics of male trout. The only thing that figures, to me, is these were some of the pound to two pound trout the derby organizers placed in the river.
The wind continued to pick up and I decided to call it a day.
Standing on the boulder reminded me of why I prefer the wilderness areas to the main campground area. It's the damn trash. On the boulder I find six or seven empty beer bottles and folk we do not take our alchohol-laden beverages with us on the water. The wildlife department forbids it and for good reason. Void of a trash bag today, a bookmark was made, and next time I hit the river the trash bag will be with me and the damn beer bottles will be removed.
Overall, it was a good day on the river. Not a Bluebird day, but a good day that I am thankful for this Thanksgiving.
The Thanks We All Should Be Giving This Thanksgiving
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. For Miss Carol and me, this Thanksgiving is kind of a wash with me having to be at work early in the morning and Carol having to pull a six hour shift beginning at noon.
Most likely, we will go a non-traditional route, late in the day, fixing some tacos or maybe tamales. Our children are here, there, and everywhere, some of them traveling, and therefore getting everyone together would be a logistical nightmare.
I would like to go to the river Blue tomorrow afternoon and regardless of whether I get to or not, I will remind myself this Thanksgiving of all I have to be thankful for as a member of the outdoor community.
Here on the prairie ocean, we have been blessed with a wonderful outdoor and wildlife program managed by the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife.
I truly believe if you ask anyone with the wildlife department about Blue River they will be quick to tell you that Blue River is one of the crown jewels of their program. Blue is a sparkling stone set concretely in the cap that a proud department wears so proudly.
Although Blue River is not one of the year round trout fisheries, it is the most popular fall and winter-time trout fishery in Oklahoma. In addition, this river has another distinction - a trout fishery that is classified as a put and take trout fishery, but, has a delayed harvest catch and release section - something that is unique. The delayed harvest catch and release area is the result of a proactive wildlife department listening to a small segment of the fly fishing community. I don't know how we could ask for more.
Blue River has a number of distinctions and the one I like best is the fact that it is a free-flowing river. No dams to impede it's natural flow or course - this river's direction is left to nature.
And on this prairie ocean we have excellent coverage of the outdoor community with people like EdGodfrey, outdoor editor for the Oklahoman, and Kelly Bostian, outdoor editor for the Tulsa World Journal.
So tomorrow if I am lucky enough to get to the river, I will find a rock along the river's edge and take a seat, and it is here I will talk with the creator telling him of my thanks for all the blessings in my life in general, and as an outdoorsman.
You see that weather map above... the one on my boob tube last night. That was the prairie ocean at 6 p.m. last night. All that green, yellow, and red was different rain systems plowing across the prairie.
Here on the southern sea of the greater ocean it begin raining mid-afternoon and rained steady for six or seven hours.
The Blue River area received even more rain and a report from Blue River Area Manager Matt Gamble reveals the river has gone murky and might be on it's way to turning into a beefy colored stew.
The good news is that we received much needed rain after such a miserable spring and summer, record heat, and terrible drought. The rain is good for this river since much of the river is spring fed.
Although many people stay on the river through the Thanksgiving holiday and following weekend, the fishing may prove to be tough. If you are a fly fisher, and you must go fly-fishing or go insane, then pack the darker color patterns. My favorite is a rust brown - fish brown in brown water.
Even though it is trout season I'm constantly thinking about carp. Today, after work, I decided to check Rock Creek to see how the rain changed this prairie ocean current. Much to my surprise the rain did little to disturb the color or flow of the creek. While standing on a high bluff looking down at the creek, riffles caught my eye. Directly below was some really nice carp feeding against the bank. I say really nice - they were like sows.
Figuring they needed their picture taken, I rushed back to the schooner and grabbed the memory maker.
Oh grand and golden ones, sweet beasts - I will visit you this spring. You should expect a visit from Charlie also.
To Overline Or Not To Overline - Is That Really The Question?
If we ask a broad spectrum of the fly fishing community including fly casting experts, line manufacturers, and rod makers about the wisdom of underlining or over-lining our rods, the answer we will most likely get is that it's best to put the appropriate weight line on the appropriate weight rod.
In other words, a five weight rod should receive a five weight line. However, these days, we see even the line manufacturers challenging that concept. Line manufacturers like Scientific Anglers have created a line of fly line that is not exactly what it says it is. SA has a series that is slightly more than the box tells us - it's labeled a five weight, for example, but, is actually a 5.5 weight. To me, and I have been wrong more often than not, that's over-lining.
This past weekend on Blue River an over-lined rod went with me. I could not have been more pleased with the performance of this rod and line. And, the fish didn't seem to mind either.
The rod in question was one of the two Cabela's Three Fork rods that Charlie recently gifted me. No doubt, they are a little bit on the stiff side and rather fast. By over-lining, the rod was slowed just a bit, causing a bit more flex and the delivery was really nice.
Charlie was the one that suggested I over-line these rods and that's because Charlie has had a long history of rods, weighing fly lines for grains and all that whoopy-do stuff. Charlie knows what he is talking about.
There are guys out there that do nothing but cast fly rods and they are indeed good at it. That kind of thing doesn't interest me at all however. Just can't see myself in some competition casting on a landlocked area or in some casting pool where there are no fish.
The argument, or intellectual discussion, I should say, will go on and on for years. Some will say it's perfectly fine to over-line while others will rant as why it should never be done.
For me, it's quite simple. The fish could care less if we over-line, use the appropriate weight, or even if we under-line. It's not like they're down there in the water column and suddenly say, "Hey guys, get a load of this! This joker has a 9 ft. 4 weight and he's got 5 weight line on it!"
No, that conversation in the trout community will never take place. All the trout will be interested in is that natural drifting pheasant tail nymph floating my their head.
Chomp!
There is more to fly fishing than capturing fish - much more. However, if most of us are honest about it, we do like battling the fish the most.
It wasn't too long ago I asked Carol why in the world she married me? Was it because she found me charming, charitable with my meager funds, or just simply drop-dead good-looking?
Carol... doesn't mince her words and quickly informed me she married me for none of the reasons I mentioned, but, rather for the fact I was dependable and she knew she could always count on me.
In our fly fishing lives there are certain fly patterns that we usually know we can always count on to produce. That's dependability.
Yesterday morning on the river Blue at 9:30 a.m. it was 65 degrees. This morning on the river at 9:30 a.m. it was 45 degrees with a noticeable breeze and a little mist. Since the Prince Nymph did so well yesterday I tied him on again went to the exact same spot as yesterday. Today however, it was a totally different story. I don't know if the trout got wise to ol' Princey boy or what, but, he couldn't have bribed a fish today.
After giving him ten or so runs the decision to go to plan B was put into effect. Some of the patterns that I've always been able to count on are the Hare's Ear, Pheasant Tail, and the venerable Bugger. The Bugger went on and the fish started coming my way.
There are still a lot of campers at Blue River, but, the crowds on the water were much thinner today. I didn't have long to stay because of things to be done at the prairie home.
On the way in to the river this morning I saw two deer hunters dragging a deer from the woods. Guess their day was made. It is hunting season at Blue and there were probably a half dozen hunters in the woods on the road going in.
On the way back to the prairie home I got to shoot some deer of my own. Shot em' with a Fuji Finepix.
Today on the river Blue, a number of long time devoted Blue River fans gathered for lunch. Even though there wasn't a lot of company... the company there was great.
At our luncheon were Harold and Eva Beck with their furever friend Dixie, Donny and Linda Carter, Billy Don Carter and Deanna Carter, Chris and Laura Adams, Larry Compton and yours truly.
There were a good number of familiar faces missing today and I hope there will be another opportunity to have a get-together later in the year.
None of us fly fished today and for me that was actually kind of nice. I found it nice to simply sit and visit with folk that I admire, respect, and genuinely like - people I consider kindred spirits.
There was a lot of good food. For an appetizer we had Harold Beck's Dutch oven cheese appetizers. For desserts we had Linda Carter's Dutch oven apple cobbler and Laura Adams dump cake. And, as our main course we had Dutch oven Mexican casserole, chicken in cherry sauce, and green bean casserole.
The weather was pretty nice, a little gusty wind at times, and again the fellowship was wonderful.
My goodness, what a wall of wind came this way overnight and continuing today. Even though I detest the wind gods and their blowhard way, I cannot blame their bitter breath for this turning into a no fishing day.
Much to my chagrin, the workplace could not find anyone to cover my meager responsibility and duty at the mercantile store and therefore I had to work.
Since it was a no fishing day I decided to take care of some other fly fishing things that needed tending such as tying some new patterns and shopping for new fly line.
Charlie, my fellow carp by fly addict, has a big heart you see. A couple of months ago he showed up at the store and gifted me with two brand new fly rods. Cabelas Three Fork fly rods that is - a 3 weight and a 5 weight. It seems Charlie found a clearance on these rods and picked up two for himself and two for me.
Cabelas Three Fork have had a long and devoted fan base and on day 1 of my chapter 58, I baptized the 5 weight at Blue River. It's a sweet rod.
The Three Fork caught most of the fish on Monday, but I quickly realized I had made a mistake - a mistake I know better than to make. I lined the rod up with an inexpensive fly line and like I say... I know better.
Using inexpensive fly line is the equivalent of throwing money away - it will be just a short matter of time until you're ripping the crap off and replacing it. Just like I'm about to do.
So, today I'm shopping on line and trying to decide if it will be SA GPX series, Rio Gold, or Orvis Wonderline. For sure I'm going to drop a few bucks, but, for this sweet little rod - one that is a gift from my friend, it will be money I want to spend.
With the summer heat being to a point of demolishing, I haven't been on the water in three weeks now and this fact was making me quite ill.
This morning at six I bid the working girls a good day and I walked out of the convenience store with a hot chocolate. In the parking lot I turned the prairie schooner in a easterly direction and hit the trail.
Shortly thereafter, I arrived at the north kingdom of Blue River. The sun had just peeked over the top of the treeline and I knew time was short before the heat started bearing down.
Blue River amazes me. This part of the country is suffering from exceptional drought. Creeks like Sandy and Travetine have run dry or stopped flowing, but Blue is vibrant and full of life right now.
After taking some pictures I unhooked the fly from the guide and made my first cast. As soon as the fly hit the river something to my left caught my eye. No more than five feet from me was a snake - dark body, almost black, thick bodied, and his entire body was on the surface. This is the kind of snake that will hurt you.
I picked up a couple of rocks and chunk around him hoping he would flush to the middle so I could keep an eye on him, but he never moved. So, I pretty much froze in position and then the darn thing swam into the cove behind me. That really froze me.
I couldn't get back on the trail without crossing the cove and I wasn't about to do that at the moment. Moving down three or four feet I continued to try and fish. Make a cast and look behind me, make another cast and look behind me. The cast and look behind thing cost me a couple of opportunities at fish. However, smallmouth were taken although they were on the small side.
It wasn't long until I seen the second snake of the morning. Same variety with the full body on the surface. This told me that I was near a community of these nasty bastards and that was enough to send me packing.
My entire time on the river this morning was less than 45 minutes and it was discouraging in light of the fact my plan was to spend several hours.
On the way out I noticed the landscape like Charlie did this past Monday. Even though the river is healthy, the landscape is crispy to say the least.
There is a lot of felled timber in the river in the north kingdom at Blue and that's prime snake habitat. Think I'll try the south wilderness on the next trip.
Right now, here in the middle of June, we are experiencing July and August like temperatures. For this old salt of the water that equates to slowing down a tad bit... as far as time on the water.
The truth is... this body is growing older and I'm not the pony I use to be. The heat hurts. Dehydration comes way to easy. The cramps are, at times, unbearable.
Crap... I can't hop across the rocks like I use to, and now I've have finally accepted this fact that really chaps my ass. Hey... it's just life. I'm living the dream man! Yeah right.
I guess all of us who love fly-fishing want to leave or pass on some of our fishing experiences in an attempt that the art will continue.
When grandson Tanner was eight years old he has his own set of waders, rod, and everything necessary to fly fish. Tanner and I, along with friends such as Jonathan Boeck, spent some good time on Blue River chasing those beautiful and bright Rainbow trout. Unfortunately, Tanner would move a good distance away and we didn't get to pursue the art.
Now... there are grand-daughters.
Since it's so hot, I decided to ease-up a bit and concentrate on passing on the fly-fishing culture. Granddaughter Brilee spends a good time with Carol and I, so on her last visit I took her to a casting stream.
Putting a four weight rod in her hand, Brilee also received about five minutes of verbal instruction. As she stood parallel with the stream I simply said, "Go".
Now, if you would have been there you would have thought Brilee had a spey rod in her hand because she was flinging the darn thing. And... that was okay. The important thing was she took an interest... the refinement can come later.
The most impressive thing to me about Brilee was she wasn't a bit intimidated by the rod or the fly line zinging by her head. She just kept flinging.
Plans are to get in her in the water and on some fish soon. Perhaps, one more generation of fly fishing faithful will be born.
Brilee with four weight in hand, giving it a go.
Confidence in a small package.
There's another grand-daughter named Payton. Payton is like this world-class softball player so I know getting a rod in her hand this time of year (softball season) is out of the question.
However, there is always fall... and trout season at Blue River begins in fall... and I hope Payton doesn't blow her arm throwing a runner out at first.
Socrates said, "I know that I know nothing." Socrates didn't mean he didn't know anything, but rather that he didn't know anything with an absolute certainty.
After 45 years of fishing, I believe I can say the same as Socrates when it comes to this art - "I know that I know nothing."
I believe that the trout will favor a Hare's Ear or Pheasant Tail Nymph offering. But, whether they will indeed eat it, I often find that I know that I know nothing.
I also believe when there is a strong wind to my back I can make a circle cast and my line and fly will go easily forward. But, whether the fly lands on spot-on target, I know that I know nothing.
Today on the creek I believed I could take a fly designed to capture the grand golden ones, and thus capture perch and bass. The perch came forward, but, the bass did not - therefore I know that I know nothing.
Knowing I know that I know nothing is part of the lure and mystique of fly-fishing. It is what keeps me returning to the water time after time. It has become the most passionate part of a varied outdoor life, and quite honestly the one thing that keeps me from deteriorating into an enthusiastic-void piece of flesh and bones.
Sometimes just sitting on a rock by the creek is nice. Sometimes sitting on a sandy shoal by the creek is nice. It gives us a chance to soak up a panoramic frame of nature's view.
Sometimes just sitting on a rock or sandy shoal gives us a chance to meet some of nature's children and marvel in the way they live.
Sometimes it nice to just let the rod rest while sitting on that rock or sandy shoal; look to the left or right and discover the vibrantly colored flower of a wild weed.
Sometimes it nice to just sit on a rock or sandy shoal and drink a cold beer, which I indeed did today.
And, sometimes it's just nice to sit on a rock or sandy shoal and take that drink of beer and look up. As you look up and the beer slides down you discover a baby blue sky with stretched cotton clouds - a sky void of utility lines, poles, or towers. Just pure sky.
And as we sit on that rock or sandy shoal and slowly lower the cold beer from our lips as our eyes are fixed on the pure sky above... we realize that it's not important that we know that we know nothing. It's not important because we will continue this quest called fly-fishing, on a continued discovery of closer connection with the outdoor world.
The grand golden ones swam by today, time after time, as I sit on the sandy shoal.
When preparing for a fishing trip, the feed bag has to go on the prairie ponies and pony feed continues to go up. Yesterday afternoon, pony feed was $3.04 for a gallon bucket and predicted to go up. The rising cost of petrol may very well have an overall effect on fly fishing in general. With increased costs associated in just "getting there", some of us less affluent anglers may have to curtail our activities.
Being a fly fisher, that is barely keeping his neck above that drowning line and sinking into the depths of the classification of "welfare-class angler", the price of petrol does alter the destiny I know is mine to own. To fly fish is the path I was born to travel and why the oil barons, giants, and market manipulators have chosen to target me and thousands of other similar-fate fly anglers is beyond any common sense reasoning.
The rising cost of petrol doesn't only effect us at the pump. A perfect example is at the grocery store checkout lane. All that wonderful produce that is grown in the San Joaquin Valley doesn't suddenly appear on display at your local grocery store. Transporting food from the field to the packer/shipper to the distribution center to the wholesaler to the retailer adds up rather quickly. The higher petrol... the higher the cost of food.
Most likely, you and several ten-million other people weren't thinking about petrol while smearing the toothpaste on the toothbrush this morning. But... as you, and the other ten-million or so brushed up and down, back and forth, oil royalty owners everywhere were smiling like the Cheshire Cat, because toothpaste is one of the many products that contains petroleum.
I'd almost bet good money, if I had any, that the price of petrol has an immediate correlation with the number of fly fishing trips anglers make during any given year. You can probably graph it out.
Of course there are great and grand plans for the future... to free us of the can't-live-without pacifier known as oil We have become addicted to oil as any poor soul that made the mistake of smoking crack at some point in his or her life. However, the grand future plans to free us of our dependency doesn't solve the immediate problem which is getting to the water without having to eventually file bankruptcy.
The sad part is this. The only way America is going to avoid higher petrol prices... is for all of us to drive less.
For a fly fishing addict... this may be a painful thing to do. Painful indeed, but a selfless thing at the same time... as the price of petrol puts the pinch on piscatorial pursuit.
In the mail today, I received an offer from Google to sign up for one of their services. Now, I doubt that I take part in their offer, but I did read the entire text and that's when I discovered something quite delightful.
In the very last paragraph, or sentence if you will, there is this text.
"PS: This card was printed on 100% recycled paper embedded with wildflower seeds. Plant it in a sunny spot with a thin layer of soil, add water, and watch it grow - while you watch your business grow with AdWords."
How cool an idea is that? Sure, they could have left that last bit of pitch off, but overall what a grand idea! No way is this thing going in the trash or shredder. Nope.... I'm planting it! And, I applaud Google's effort in being green, recycling, and their effort in increasing sustainability. Soon as the weather warms up, it's going in the ground, where I will patiently await for the colors that will soothe my eyes, and the nectar that will flow providing a food source for insects and birds, and the seeds that will drop to the ground or scatter to other locations and possibly start over.
What if hundreds of other companies did the same thing? What if all paper grocery bags were embedded with seeds, like squash, corn, cucumbers, eggplant, lettuce, and so on and on. Instead of the paper bag going in the dog-gone dumpster, it could go in the ground and give us crops (maybe) back.
I think the fly fishing industry needs to look at this also. Anything they merchandise that has a paper card with it could be embedded with seeds.
I doubt that Mr. Jinx really hated meeces to pieces as he proclaimed for years. He did like jacking with Pixie and Dixie though, like moving their mouse hole right before their arrival.
Here we are in the middle of trout season and still a good two months away from the prime time of bass fishing on the prairie ocean, and I find myself fixated with a particular daydream.
In this dream I see myself employing a fast or panic strip on a meece pattern across the glass-like surface of a lake, when suddenly a large bulge forms underneath the fly. Then, just as suddenly, there's a huge explosion of water as the bass sky rockets through the surface with my meece pattern dangling in the corner of his jaw. Rod hand goes up, line hand goes down, hook is firmly planted in the corner of the eight... no nine, maybe ten pound largemouth.
I bet bass hate meeces to pieces. In my experience bass seem to be somewhat territorial and it would reason when they see a gray, somewhat furry, long-tailed creature meece-paddling across the top of their watery den...something primordial occurs... that basic instinct that says attack. Besides... a meece would certainly prove to be a welcomed and varied change to the mundane bass menu, plus offer up a healthy portion of protein.
Now, I don't hate meece, but I don't really like tying meece patterns. Stacking, spinning, packing, trimming, shaping oodles and oodles of hair holds no fancy for me and there are many other ways I'd rather spin my time on the vise. However, I have seen some wonderful fly tyers who create beautiful works of art spinning deer hair. So, it would seem best for me to simply be charitable to these artisans and buy their works of arts.
Meece pattern by Chris Adams
I do have some meece patterns given to me from other fly anglers. I don't always fish the flies given to me from my brothers of the angle, but rather I keep them as reminders of the person that gave... and the day it was given.
There is one particular meece pattern I own that has it's own story. There was a day when Scotty opened his Blue River One Stop at six in the morning rather than seven. On a particular Sunday, I arrived at Scotty's about ten minutes before opening and noticed a vehicle at the front door of the store. Before the morning was over I would come to learn the man behind the wheel went by the name of Randy.
It seemed that Randy had successfully closed one of the local drinking establishments about several hours prior. Since helping turn out the lights at the dive he had been patiently waiting for some sign of humanity - which turned out to be me.
I had driven the little brown pony (S-10) on this Sunday morning, and before I could pull back on the reins and come to a complete stop, the fellow I would come to know as Randy was out of his car smiling, and staggering, and waving, and staggering some more. He was still terribly polluted or maybe terribly hung-over. He had somehow miraculously navigated the road from the Milburn Bar And No Grill to the front doorstep of Scotty's, and he was now acting like I was a long lost friend... when in fact we did not know one another.
Now I don't know if Randy was just an exceptional congenial type guy or if it was the fact his blood alcohol content was probably close to 2.6 or something like that, and his condition had his communication process in high gear. But whatever it was... Randy was quite the talker. He quickly learned the reason for my arrival was due to my plans to fly fish, and upon learning this Randy became extremely excited and started staggering to the back of his car, beseeching me to quickly follow.
At the back of his car, Randy struggled to insert the key in the trunk latch, but once he did he revealed an absolute treasure trove of high end fly fishing stuff. To me, it looked like Randy has just finished a shopping spree at an Orvis store somewhere. He grabbed a rather large fly box that held nothing but well tyed hair flies - beautiful creations. He started plucking flies and handing them to me saying, "Here, take this one... no take two, you may loose one. Oh, take this one too, and here's another one you'll probably need." Fly after fly came my way including a nicely done meece pattern pictured below.
I couldn't get a read on why Randy was being so benevolent to me - was he just a kind, giving person, or was it the fact that intoxicated people sometimes tend to be over-generous when they are under the influence? Shortly, however, the real reason would reveal itself. It seemed when Randy approached the little brown pony he noticed the ice chest in the back of my truck - an ice chest I had most assuredly stowed a six-pack of beer for use later in the day. It didn't take long, after showering me with flies, for Randy to inquire whether said ice chest held cold beer? Seeing that he was in need of emergency care and the correct prescription would be hair of the dog, I told Randy that indeed the chest held beer, and he was welcome to tip one, which he wasted no time in doing.
It was about that time Scotty showed up and I went inside to fix a pot of coffee. I not only grabbed a cup for myself, but one for Randy too, who was still outside nursing that beer. Randy wasn't interested in the coffee, but feeling somewhat better now, he announced he would fly fish with me this morning - my lucky day I guess.
Randy lasted a full thirty minutes on the river before coming to me to say he'd decided to go back to the parking lot. He asked if I would mind if he sampled another beer and I told him that would be no problem. I watched him waddle up the road, then reach in the back of the truck and snatch two Coors Lights. That was the last time I seen him.
I keep Randy's meece pattern in a small wooden boat on my fly tying table. Every now and then I'll pick it up and remember the morning I made a two-hour new best friend and his name was Randy.
Now when it comes to meece and men we're in the same boat - which is exactly where we should stay. Meece and men don't take naturally to water. Oh sure, there are those that will argue that we, man, crawled out of the sea some millions of years ago. If that is indeed true then we've certainly lost our ability, along the way, to breath under water. And sure, we've learned how to swim and I've seen meece that can swim rather well, but the fact is if we stay on the water too long we will tire and we will drown! The same is true for meece!
So, in the next several months, I'll gather some of my meece patterns and put them in a particular fly box preparing for the upcoming pre-spawn bass season of late March and April.
Until then, I'll simply have some fun watching Mr. Jinx jack with those meeces Pixie and Dixie.
