Treasure

I worked various spots in this particular pool for over 4 hours.  Lots of fish, and some in the 30" range.  I was too busy adjusting to their mercurial tastes in fly and presentation (and, well, catching fish) to take a lot of pictures.

Another pic taken from the same spot...

This place is a long way from home, but was inbetween two projects on a day I had otherwise-unscheduled for work.  I look forward to planning a longer stay in the near future.

Has it really been since June that I was there?  Too long.  Too long.

Fly Swap Pix

I have done some fly-tying this winter, but haven't done so much blogging and picture-taking.  The will to blog springs from a general desire to share things that I find interesting, and the personal drama I've been forced to endure over the past couple months have cast a long and sinister shadow over my countenance.

I did promise to contribute to a fly-swap with my pals at the Upland Journal, but there was one restriction that held a sticking point: the flies we all tied were to include material from something we'd each "shot."

Well, as you can certainly guess, there weren't much shooting for me this season, but I secured a "variance" from the powers-that-be so to allow something "shot" by Maggie last year.  This was a stuffed fish-toy that she got aholt of, and it was then by-golly "shot."

I tied up some variations of a Parachute Adams that look like this...

Are you my mother?



Last year, I had tied some of these guys using elk hair for the tails, and the brookies tore 'em up!  We'll see if this version gets the same reception.  The recipe...

Hook: Gamakatsu S10 #16
Tail: brown & grizzly hackle fibers
Body: gray dubbing
Hackle: brown & grizzly
Thread: dark brown 6/0
Post: aforementioned synthetic fish guts

Josh Williams & Project Healing Waters

The next time I'm tying a Prince Nymph (or similar), and fretting and cursing over those pesky, uncooperative goose biots, I'll think back on this video of veteran Josh Williams.



Support Project Healing Waters.

Think I might try learning to tie his "White Lightning" nymph.

Blood Knot Magazine- January

If your collection of blogs to visit hadn't already overloaded your digestive capacity for words, pictures, and sometimes crappy music, here's another for ye.  I just finished going cover to cover on the January issue of Blood Knot, which is (not ironically) their 1st annual bloggers recognition issue.  Some of the articles I read were out-bygosh-standing, and some were just good.  Lots of great photos.  One article I skipped entirely because it contained a photo of Barry the Socialist standing in a crick with a (pause to choke back the bile) fly-rod in his hand.

Sight of that picture cursed me with a hacking fit not unlike a cat working up a hairball.  But, I recovered.

All things considered, a very good read.  Check 'em out.

Tribute

There aren't any words, for me, that completely define my anguish over losing my friend.  Tom Reed, however, does a far better job of it than I can.  I don't know Tom, but it sure sounds like he knows me.

Tom writes for one of my favorite blogs, Mouthful Of Feathers.  And here he writes of parting with his dog pal.  Maybe your heart has to be similarly broken to fully appreciate his tribute, but I doubt it.

From The Other:

There are humans, though, who at a minimum understand Beston’s other nation. They may even live there. Perhaps. Many are my friends. Hunting men mostly, men who hunt because they have a dog and if they did not partner with a canine, they would find no pleasure in walking an autumn field with a shotgun no matter how much they enjoyed the taste of roasted pheasant. They certainly would find the cliffs and crags and rough tough of the chukar partridge much more empty. Perhaps they would draw upon the wildness and raw beauty of the desert, but without a dog pal the picture would be incomplete like Mona Lisa without her smile. Can an old woman with a Peekapoo experience the same kind of other plane, that melding of human and dog mind into a mutual understanding that transcends verbal language? Perhaps. But I think not. The reason is quarry. There is something very different about an animal that lives to hunt for you, that pursues what you pursue. You are caught up in a mutual joy of the hunt, a mutual drive that sinks deep to the soul into the core, the heart, the bone, the very cells that make up a living creature. This is in our DNA, those of us who hunt. I am sure that dogs that hunted held a different status in the ancient nomadic tribes of which we are rooted than dogs that plodded along at heel, eating food and in the end becoming food. Each type of dog—the food hunter and the food “on the hoof” certainly played a role in the survival, but it was hunting dog that actually earned its keep by living, not dying.

Much of my life has been defined by the deaths of others, and there's no getting used to it.  I'm lost and alone without my dog pal, and the world is an infinitely colder place.

For Reed, it was blistering hot in Montana while he dug the grave for his dog.  For my digging, the day after Christmas, the ground was frozen over with snow.

It's snowing again, now.

Fly Porn 3 January 2011

#18 Elk Hair Caddis.  Breasty.  Pouty.  A little flutter of the eyelash says, "come hither, you big galoot."

Let's say I'm gonna tie like a fiend this winter.  Yeah, right...we'll see how that goes.

Catch #15

If you love world-class photo essays, and fly fishing, be sure to check out the new edition of Catch Magazine.  It's an online-only publication, and subscription is free.  Know what I call that?

Sweet.

It'd be even sweeter if they gave you an RL Winston rod just for getting a free subscription, wouldn't it?

Better hurry, before someone else gets it.

Photo credit to Brian O. at Catch Magazine blog.