Sunday, August 21, 2016

Floating the Glorious 12th

Here are some pictures and minimal film with detailed instruction of how one goes about getting burnt by the sun. I made it because it was a really lovely time; paddling, wading and basking in warm waters. When it's January or March I will look again and feel the warmth. At least that is my thinking.

We didn't catch much - blues mostly, and we were tired by the time we found them and I couldn't be bothered. Anchoring in a busy shipping channel isn't an evolutionary stable strategy, and when you hook a 3 pound blue the return is quickly diminishing: some seconds of violent thrill for the high probability of hand lacerations. I was tired and didn't want to be bitten. I couldn't cast no more. We'd set out at 6.15am and returned to dock, sore arsed and dehydrated, the back of 3pm.

I'm not sure what happened in the intervening nine hours. We did sight cast to striped bass on the flats, but didn't catch any. It's a lot like carp fishing in that respect. Thankless, hard, and great.  We'd get bored, walk back to anchored boats, and talk. (Next time I must bring ample gin and tonic.)

The pictures of stripers in the film are from earlier in the season when they were much easier to catch. They are meant to dupe you into thinking they were heroically caught on this particulalr trip, but they were not.

We paddled over deeps and shallows, got out and tethered our boats, waded blue flats and watched horseshoe crabs hump. We ate beef sandwiches and remarked how great it was to be away from everything a mile or more off land. We were on the ocean for half a day and it was over quickly because getting into 12 feet of plastic and shoving yourself to sea is an adventure that is worth it every time, fish be damned. At one point I was standing next to my boat in three feet of water, changing flies. I decided to just lay down in the water and feel how great it was, because I could. You can't do that in Pulaski. 

I've also been drinking really good malt whisky and contemplating what makes a good blog. I recently heard myself say that the best blogs must be time limited. They should peak and die, having found good form that must rightfully fade or become something else. Or perhaps these things come in waves? Any road, forgive us this quiet time, as we forgive those who have quiet time around us. Perhaps dormancy is better than the prattle or padding required by those that have appearances to keep, sausages to massage, platforms to maintain, and bills to pay?

I couldn't possibly say.



Friday, January 1, 2016


Brayshaw. Squirrels. Suspension Bridge. Culvert.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Jim Harrison's Face

 “I like grit, I like love and death, I'm tired of irony.......I would rather give full vent to all human loves and disappointments, and take a chance on being corny, than die a smartass.”
― Jim Harrison

Short article about a guy who's been photographing Jim Harrison over the years. And here's a nice PBS interview with some of his poetry.

Found by Brawshaw.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Nothing to see here

We fished in up-state New York over the weekend. After considerable planning and effort, Andrew flew in from India. The fishing had been painfully slow, and we confirmed this over three full days exploring the river.  Few fish were hooked, and fewer still landed.

Still, as this video of nothing happening shows, it's good to get away, with thoughts trained only on food, drink and fly selection. A rest for the brain, as Todd said.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Monday, November 2, 2015

The Steelheading Male

  • Notes that it is November;
  • Welcomes the first jaded, brown leaves of late fall when all others recoil at the loss of vibrant color;
  • Considers fingernail length for the first time in a year, all the better to remove split shot with;
  • Consults lists from last year, and begins to source bottom toiletries, headlamps, swivels, foreign licenses (nb. there must be moisturizer);
  • Cares about food shopping for the first time in one whole year, thereby avoiding Stefano's pizza and damaged innards; 
  • Thinks of 3 days of carefree cabin life and all that smoking, whisky and whiskey that will come (I'm going to be a child about it and I can't help it);
  • Sends emails back and forth to fishing companion comparing recent wader purchases as would two men who know. 
That to hook a steehead is to truly be a happy fellow.