Thursday, October 25, 2012
Freedom, Indeed
I never go to rivers to kill hecatombs of trout or, actually, any trout; I go to unkill parts of myself that otherwise might die. ~Nick Lyons
Here's a video from a certain kindred spirit...
of fly rods and freedom. from WY Fly media on Vimeo.
I sat at my desk today and thought about fishing. I shan't make that same mistake again tomorrow.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Pipe Down Over There
As a general rule, this blog is devoted to leisure pursuits out of doors: Riding horses, fishing, hunting, sailing, and other fun adventures.
Work is an adventure too, though, if the work is out there off the beaten path. And sometimes I have projects that are extraordinary or unusual in some way. Case in point is this drive into an area where some work needed my inspection. Eventually, these miles of 20" gas line will be buried under the swamp and beyond. But, how impressive is it to see so much laid out in preparation?
Consider all the work just to lay out those timber mats, for equipment and vehicle access along the route. Then, think about connecting all those pipe sections, one at a time. Each pipe must be welded, one to the next. After that, each weld gets x-rayed to certify the quality of the welds. If it doesn't pass, the weld is improved or redone, until it does pass x-ray tests. Once it passes, the weld is coated with a special epoxy that protects the joint and (along with the painted coating elsewhere) insulates the pipe. Then, the coating is tested for its cathodic protection.
After it's all installed, deer will again be harvested from that hunting hotel at about the 4:24 mark, and the temporary impact to these wetlands will be long since healed.
The video was shot on my Kodak Playsport, hung out the window and propped over the side mirror...and aside from the addition of the two songs as soundtrack, remains unenhanced. You should get the feel of driving over a road made out of 16' wide mats of 12" x 8" timbers. Toward the end, take a sip of your coffee and try to NOT think about spilling it.
I drove a little faster than necessary, because I didn't want to meet anyone coming the other way with precious little room to pass. Not that it was particularly dicey...just that I figured it'd detract from the continuity of the video.
Installation of the tan-colored stretch of pipe toward the end was what required my presence.
pipeline from liv erm'ush on Vimeo.
Songs are from John Hiatt, Ridin' With The King and Chris Whitley, Long Way Around. Hope you like the video.
Work is an adventure too, though, if the work is out there off the beaten path. And sometimes I have projects that are extraordinary or unusual in some way. Case in point is this drive into an area where some work needed my inspection. Eventually, these miles of 20" gas line will be buried under the swamp and beyond. But, how impressive is it to see so much laid out in preparation?
Consider all the work just to lay out those timber mats, for equipment and vehicle access along the route. Then, think about connecting all those pipe sections, one at a time. Each pipe must be welded, one to the next. After that, each weld gets x-rayed to certify the quality of the welds. If it doesn't pass, the weld is improved or redone, until it does pass x-ray tests. Once it passes, the weld is coated with a special epoxy that protects the joint and (along with the painted coating elsewhere) insulates the pipe. Then, the coating is tested for its cathodic protection.
After it's all installed, deer will again be harvested from that hunting hotel at about the 4:24 mark, and the temporary impact to these wetlands will be long since healed.
The video was shot on my Kodak Playsport, hung out the window and propped over the side mirror...and aside from the addition of the two songs as soundtrack, remains unenhanced. You should get the feel of driving over a road made out of 16' wide mats of 12" x 8" timbers. Toward the end, take a sip of your coffee and try to NOT think about spilling it.
I drove a little faster than necessary, because I didn't want to meet anyone coming the other way with precious little room to pass. Not that it was particularly dicey...just that I figured it'd detract from the continuity of the video.
Installation of the tan-colored stretch of pipe toward the end was what required my presence.
pipeline from liv erm'ush on Vimeo.
Songs are from John Hiatt, Ridin' With The King and Chris Whitley, Long Way Around. Hope you like the video.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Birthday, Boats, Bahamas, Babes, & Bones
I can't say that it was more trouble than it was worth, but as with most anything worth doing, it took the movement of mountains just to get to the doing.
We departed Charleston after both working right up to the last minute. The Sleep Inn in North Charleston does not provide shuttle service as part of the "Stay & Cruise" package. The Manager Woman there said, "We can't put everything on the website that isn't included!"
As part of my "Stay & Cruise" experience, I got to push the hired taxi-van through the Customs gate, when it picked that spot to take a crap.
We're pretty sure the number of those celebrating birthdays on Day Asea #2, outnumbered those who were not. That's a purely unscientific assessment, based solely on the abundance of crappy versions of "Happy Birthday...dear (mumblemumblewhateveryournamewas)" songs at the dinner tables. Thanks for trying, waitstaff, anyway!
It would have been much less enjoyable had we not met & befriended the two frauleins, Simone` & Betina.
Birthdays Boats & Bahamas from liv erm'ush on Vimeo.
Sherry learned from Betina how to say a very insulting phrase to me in German. I'll have to research the spelling on those German words, and report back later...maybe Betina can comment?
Riding in a vehicle in the Bahamas isn't the best part.
Snorkel masks and moustaches do not mix well, unless the moustache-owner really, really likes breathing salt-water.
Capt. Phil & Mel will pick you up at the big boat, and drop you off on time later. Riding in the flats boat on the water: great. Riding with PJ on land...not so much. PJ does deserve a big thanks for the extra underwater effort, though. Call 'em up for your bonefishing trip, but don't try to squeeze a half-day fishing trip into the time you're in port, unless your stay is at least overnight.
More on this adventure later, perhaps. Hope you enjoy the video.
We departed Charleston after both working right up to the last minute. The Sleep Inn in North Charleston does not provide shuttle service as part of the "Stay & Cruise" package. The Manager Woman there said, "We can't put everything on the website that isn't included!"
As part of my "Stay & Cruise" experience, I got to push the hired taxi-van through the Customs gate, when it picked that spot to take a crap.
We're pretty sure the number of those celebrating birthdays on Day Asea #2, outnumbered those who were not. That's a purely unscientific assessment, based solely on the abundance of crappy versions of "Happy Birthday...dear (mumblemumblewhateveryournamewas)" songs at the dinner tables. Thanks for trying, waitstaff, anyway!
It would have been much less enjoyable had we not met & befriended the two frauleins, Simone` & Betina.
Birthdays Boats & Bahamas from liv erm'ush on Vimeo.
Sherry learned from Betina how to say a very insulting phrase to me in German. I'll have to research the spelling on those German words, and report back later...maybe Betina can comment?
Riding in a vehicle in the Bahamas isn't the best part.
Snorkel masks and moustaches do not mix well, unless the moustache-owner really, really likes breathing salt-water.
Capt. Phil & Mel will pick you up at the big boat, and drop you off on time later. Riding in the flats boat on the water: great. Riding with PJ on land...not so much. PJ does deserve a big thanks for the extra underwater effort, though. Call 'em up for your bonefishing trip, but don't try to squeeze a half-day fishing trip into the time you're in port, unless your stay is at least overnight.
More on this adventure later, perhaps. Hope you enjoy the video.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Aye Captain, Ready To Tack
I am always keen on the notion of that next big adventure...
How about some of this:
And more of this. Listen closely...the diesel motor sounds like a tractor...plp-plp-plp-plp-plp-plp
But then, under sail, whisper quiet...
I didn't miss the land as it faded away behind...
But, sitting here in this hotel room, I certainly am missing that Hunter 27 and my recent day on the water.
Hope it won't be so long 'til the next time.
How about some of this:
And more of this. Listen closely...the diesel motor sounds like a tractor...plp-plp-plp-plp-plp-plp
But then, under sail, whisper quiet...
I didn't miss the land as it faded away behind...
But, sitting here in this hotel room, I certainly am missing that Hunter 27 and my recent day on the water.
Hope it won't be so long 'til the next time.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Sgt. Hulka's Big Toe
...Kicked My Ass.
But, only temporarily.
On June 17, my brother and his #1 and I went to what I'll henceforward call the Big Toe River for a trout-on-the-fly adventure. As always, my first efforts astream involved the due-diligence aspect: investigate upstream and down to determine where any other fisherpersons have already staked their respective places.
And having never fished this crick in Avery County, the exercise was also fundamentally one of familiarization with the access points and fishability.
After meeting up, both our vehicles leapfrogged the drive along the river, stopping together several times to consult the maps I'd brung and compare notes. Then, I made the suggestion to take advantage of the fact we had two trucks: I picked two easy-access points on the map, and said "let's park your truck at the get-out and the take mine to the put-in, fish the 2 miles or so upstream, then break for lunch and reassess our gameplan for the rest of the river."
Two miles.
You can walk two miles in about 20 minutes. Surely you can fish two miles in 4 hours.
Au contrere, mon frere. Not in this crick, anyways. The critical aspect of this miscalculation was the not-so-minor fact that for this 2-mile stretch, the only real access was at those aforementioned put-in & get-out points. Matter of fact, there weren't any significant "beach" areas along the river. That is, at the river's edge, the steep and densely-wooded bank began. If one needed to sit a spell, he'd almost certainly have to sit in the water. This makes for some tough sleddin', as one might expect. If "one" is thinking with the practical side of his noggin' (as opposed to the "we're going to have a stretch of river all to ourselves" side of brain).
Well, as it turned out, there weren't any other folks fishing there. But the two miles also turned out to be way too big a bite to effectively chew. It was a hottish day, sure to sap a feller's energy level.
The fishing for brother and nephew was mostly a disappointment. But for the Livermush Guy? A banner day, in terms of quality and quantity.
Sorry about the fact that none of us carried a camera, but I caught & released 17 fish. One of them was a 19" Rainbow. And I also had a very rare double (exceptionally rare in that they were BOTH Rainbows)...that simultaneously took the Parachute Adams on top...
...And my version of Dave Hise's Heterogenius dangled below...
I was thankful that, without a camera, at least my nephew got to see me catch the double and the monster 'Bow. But alas, glory for our self-appointed hero would be fleeting...
By lunchtime, we were all very tired. And we figured that, having fished long and hard, the upstream transportation would be just around the bend. Or the next bend. Or the one after that. Or the one after that?
By 2PM, we were all whupped. Dog tired, boss, dog tired. We'd all started tripping over rocks and other underwater obstacles. We'd each taken significant slips, and gone "Tango Uniform". By 3 o'clock, Brother & Nephew decided to venture off on a trail away from the creek, in hopes of shortcutting to his truck. That detour eventually proved fruitless, while I dropped entirely out of stealth mode and plodded shamelessly, obnoxiously upstream.
About 4PM, I came upon a small, grassy beach on the East bank, with three couples and two chilluns playing in their near water. The smart thing to do would be to go straight to them, make my how-do's, beg pardon, give Brother a hollered "C'mon!" and make our way along a constructed route.
But this is where the pratical part of my brain (if I indeed packed it for the trip?), again, let me down. Instead of the "smart" thing, I made a wide berth around the family pool, nearer to the opposite bank, bravely intent on taking the road less travelled. An adventure is, afterall, an adventure.
I'd passed their site completely, and worked back into the center of the creek, when in rapid succession, I slipped-half-caught-and-slipped again. Trying to catch myself the second time, I strained too hard. And tired muscle battling excess mass (still a fat-ass flyfisherman), resulted in a splashy down! goes! Frazier! moment.
In a completely-unplanned cheerleader's split, I'd dislocated my hip and torn a hamstring. I tried to stand, but went down like a sack of Livermush again. Tried again very carefully...and, down again hard I went.
So, I gave a shout to the beachers, who came a-running. They helped me out of the water, which was thankfully only about a foot deep, and on to their shore. Coincidentally, Brother had made his circuitous way back to the river at about/across from the camping-beach, and reappeared about the time I was getting helped abank. After working their way across stream, Brother & Nephew & I were afforded a ride in the back of one of those fellers' pickup.
The drama up to that point was enough for one day, already, but mister good samaritan wasn't nearly as friendly and careful a driver as he was a helper of crippled fishermans. The ride to Brother's truck was the most, by far, nerve-wrenching part of the ordeal! Seriously, if any of us had let go our death grip of his tailgate, we'd have been roadkill...no exaggeration. I figure he'd come to realize leaving his Missus with one of those other fellers was something better "un-prolonged".
But, we didn't let go; and we survived.
We thanked him for the lift. I offered him a reward, which he politely declined. And then he tore up the road back toward where he'd come. I got safely back to my truck, and then gingerly, but safely, back home without further incident.
Since that day's adventure, we learned that we'd only made it about half way between trucks A & B. And I just marvel at how far we'd gone, and difficult it had been, only to still be that far short of the goal.
The doctor prescribed taking it easy and letting the hip and hammy heal themselves up with time and rest, so that I've done. I have been able to work a few projects over the past few weeks, and the limp is barely noticable. But today, I find myself considering a trip to West Bygosh Virginia for some horseriding and flyfishing fun. Maybe if the weather breaks tomorrow?
And I'll soon be back to tackle the Big Toe. The two trucks will get parked in the same two places, but the practically brained and experienced flyfishing fatass will, more than likely, fish in the opposite direction next time, for that stretch of creek.
Can anyone say "float-trip"?
But, only temporarily.
On June 17, my brother and his #1 and I went to what I'll henceforward call the Big Toe River for a trout-on-the-fly adventure. As always, my first efforts astream involved the due-diligence aspect: investigate upstream and down to determine where any other fisherpersons have already staked their respective places.
And having never fished this crick in Avery County, the exercise was also fundamentally one of familiarization with the access points and fishability.
After meeting up, both our vehicles leapfrogged the drive along the river, stopping together several times to consult the maps I'd brung and compare notes. Then, I made the suggestion to take advantage of the fact we had two trucks: I picked two easy-access points on the map, and said "let's park your truck at the get-out and the take mine to the put-in, fish the 2 miles or so upstream, then break for lunch and reassess our gameplan for the rest of the river."
Two miles.
You can walk two miles in about 20 minutes. Surely you can fish two miles in 4 hours.
Au contrere, mon frere. Not in this crick, anyways. The critical aspect of this miscalculation was the not-so-minor fact that for this 2-mile stretch, the only real access was at those aforementioned put-in & get-out points. Matter of fact, there weren't any significant "beach" areas along the river. That is, at the river's edge, the steep and densely-wooded bank began. If one needed to sit a spell, he'd almost certainly have to sit in the water. This makes for some tough sleddin', as one might expect. If "one" is thinking with the practical side of his noggin' (as opposed to the "we're going to have a stretch of river all to ourselves" side of brain).
Well, as it turned out, there weren't any other folks fishing there. But the two miles also turned out to be way too big a bite to effectively chew. It was a hottish day, sure to sap a feller's energy level.
The fishing for brother and nephew was mostly a disappointment. But for the Livermush Guy? A banner day, in terms of quality and quantity.
Sorry about the fact that none of us carried a camera, but I caught & released 17 fish. One of them was a 19" Rainbow. And I also had a very rare double (exceptionally rare in that they were BOTH Rainbows)...that simultaneously took the Parachute Adams on top...
...And my version of Dave Hise's Heterogenius dangled below...
I was thankful that, without a camera, at least my nephew got to see me catch the double and the monster 'Bow. But alas, glory for our self-appointed hero would be fleeting...
By lunchtime, we were all very tired. And we figured that, having fished long and hard, the upstream transportation would be just around the bend. Or the next bend. Or the one after that. Or the one after that?
By 2PM, we were all whupped. Dog tired, boss, dog tired. We'd all started tripping over rocks and other underwater obstacles. We'd each taken significant slips, and gone "Tango Uniform". By 3 o'clock, Brother & Nephew decided to venture off on a trail away from the creek, in hopes of shortcutting to his truck. That detour eventually proved fruitless, while I dropped entirely out of stealth mode and plodded shamelessly, obnoxiously upstream.
About 4PM, I came upon a small, grassy beach on the East bank, with three couples and two chilluns playing in their near water. The smart thing to do would be to go straight to them, make my how-do's, beg pardon, give Brother a hollered "C'mon!" and make our way along a constructed route.
But this is where the pratical part of my brain (if I indeed packed it for the trip?), again, let me down. Instead of the "smart" thing, I made a wide berth around the family pool, nearer to the opposite bank, bravely intent on taking the road less travelled. An adventure is, afterall, an adventure.
I'd passed their site completely, and worked back into the center of the creek, when in rapid succession, I slipped-half-caught-and-slipped again. Trying to catch myself the second time, I strained too hard. And tired muscle battling excess mass (still a fat-ass flyfisherman), resulted in a splashy down! goes! Frazier! moment.
In a completely-unplanned cheerleader's split, I'd dislocated my hip and torn a hamstring. I tried to stand, but went down like a sack of Livermush again. Tried again very carefully...and, down again hard I went.
So, I gave a shout to the beachers, who came a-running. They helped me out of the water, which was thankfully only about a foot deep, and on to their shore. Coincidentally, Brother had made his circuitous way back to the river at about/across from the camping-beach, and reappeared about the time I was getting helped abank. After working their way across stream, Brother & Nephew & I were afforded a ride in the back of one of those fellers' pickup.
The drama up to that point was enough for one day, already, but mister good samaritan wasn't nearly as friendly and careful a driver as he was a helper of crippled fishermans. The ride to Brother's truck was the most, by far, nerve-wrenching part of the ordeal! Seriously, if any of us had let go our death grip of his tailgate, we'd have been roadkill...no exaggeration. I figure he'd come to realize leaving his Missus with one of those other fellers was something better "un-prolonged".
But, we didn't let go; and we survived.
We thanked him for the lift. I offered him a reward, which he politely declined. And then he tore up the road back toward where he'd come. I got safely back to my truck, and then gingerly, but safely, back home without further incident.
Since that day's adventure, we learned that we'd only made it about half way between trucks A & B. And I just marvel at how far we'd gone, and difficult it had been, only to still be that far short of the goal.
The doctor prescribed taking it easy and letting the hip and hammy heal themselves up with time and rest, so that I've done. I have been able to work a few projects over the past few weeks, and the limp is barely noticable. But today, I find myself considering a trip to West Bygosh Virginia for some horseriding and flyfishing fun. Maybe if the weather breaks tomorrow?
And I'll soon be back to tackle the Big Toe. The two trucks will get parked in the same two places, but the practically brained and experienced flyfishing fatass will, more than likely, fish in the opposite direction next time, for that stretch of creek.
Can anyone say "float-trip"?
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