MERRY CHRISTMAS!

WISHING YOU A

MERRY CHRISTMAS

AND SWEET MEMORIES OF THE DAY.

The Christmas Moon 2015

There will be a full moon this Christmas for the first time since 1977. It will rise at 4:04 PM on Christmas Eve, reach the crest of its full phase (residing exactly 180 degrees from the sun in ecliptic longitude) at 3:11 AM on Christmas morning, and set at 7:35 AM. (All times Pacific Standard Time.)

That means Santa will be making his run this year in the light of the full moon.

There won't be another full moon on Christmas until 2034, so I hope you will be able to make the full moon a part of your Christmas Eve or early Christmas morning.

The December full moon is called the Cold Moon, for obvious reasons, or the Longest Night Moon, for its proximity to the Winter Solstice. But this year we can without hesitation call it what it is: the Christmas Moon.

SCALE Fly and Spin Fishing Magazine, No. 19

Interesting cover this time. I will admit that I thought twice about posting it, knowing that it could offend some of my readers.

I'm not offended by it, by I had to wonder what the point of it was. Like Ricky Bobby, I, too, like Baby Jesus, especially in a season when crass commercialism all too often pushes him out of what many of us observe as his birthday celebration. So are we to assume from this cover that these fishermen have come to the stable to worship a fish? What would Bobby Ricky think of that?

Or maybe that fish isn't meant to take Baby Jesus out of the picture. Maybe it's supposed to be a birthday present from Joseph, his own catch, and more precious in his fly fisherman's eyes than all that gold, frankincense and myrrh that the Wise Men would bring later. Is that why Jesus would grow up to like fishermen so much, and even to choose some to be his disciples? And why his early followers would later choose a fish as the symbol of their commitment to follow his ways?

Because Scale is right about that close association of Jesus and fishermen. Norman Maclean put his own twist on it in one of my favorite quotes from A River Runs Through It:

“In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman.”

Then again, maybe what Scale is trying to do is not to make some point about Baby Jesus, but rather to gently skewer the sport of fishing and the fishermen who make it into a "religion" complete with dogma, priests, true believers and heretics. So we are to assume from this cover that fishermen are actually coming to the stable to worship a fish.

If so, nice one, Scale. I can get behind that.

Or...maybe someone just thought it would be funny to put a fish in the manger scene. As far as I know it hasn't been done quite like this, but something very similar was done a long time ago--in the early 16th century--by the painter Raffaello Sanzio. He called it "Madonna With Fish." As far as I know, nobody was offended by it.

But whatever you think of the cover, I hope you'll look inside this issue of Scale. It continues to bring quality articles and photos covering a wide range of fishing experiences. But this time it also includes an announcement by the editorial staff.

They acknowledge the refugee crisis overwhelming Europe, which is their home base, and the home of many of their readers. They admit that, as a fishing magazine, they aren't going to weigh in on the politics of that issue.

"But," they go on to say, "we do know that we need to help, no question about it. So we as an editorial team have decided to pass on 25% of this issue's marketing yield to the charity Wadi. This organization has been fostering and organizing projects for the last twenty years in the Middle East, aimed at helping people there to help themselves. A particular focus are projects that improve the lives of children and women. That's the kind of initiative we find worthy to support." (My emphasis.)

So, again, whatever you think of their cover, I'd say they got that "love your neighbor" thing right. And I think Baby Jesus would approve.

Give them some love HERE.

Trout Lake Report: Like Christmas Morning

You wade through another busy stretch, then find a chance to get back to the lake. The day is warmer and dryer than on the inaugural trip.

You go back to the north end again. Just as on the first trip, there is a strong wind pushing up waves, but this time it's blowing out of the south.

You kick over to the other side, put the wind to your back, and prospect the shoreline with a big greased muddler on top.

Once again you stop at the inlet and break down the water with extra attention, but the fly is the only thing swimming.

You continue to work the shoreline, ignoring the big waves that splash down your neck. The fish are nowhere to be found. You find yourself slipping into that irrational opening weekend anxiety: what if this time the big crowds literally cleaned the lake out?

In spite of that, you're having a glorious time. The only thing missing are the fish, but your better self tells you they're in there, try harder. So you try some indicator fishing. Still no results other than pleasure at the new non-slip indicators you picked up the other day. The little victories keep you going.

You're beginning to philosophize about the meaning of getting skunked on only your second trip of the season, and to moralize about the positive effects of delayed gratification when the wind abruptly sits down and a few fish finally show themselves.

You tie on a new pheasant tail parachute and get your trout. The day feels complete.

But of course you keep fishing. And now comes that deep contentment at simply being there with a dry fly resting on its hackles on the calm surface and your hands already smelling of fish.

The fly gets some action, but you don't hook up on every hit, and that's just fine.

The evening is winding down.

You kick across to the other side.

You tie the muddler back on and begin to fish the shoreline back toward the take out. You're remembering the many good fish you've taken along here in years past, including some stellar browns. You're hoping you might find your first brown of this new season. You get a big hit, a hookup, and a good fight. It's not a brown, it's a Pacquiao of a rainbow.

The first brown--along with a thousand other thrills and pleasures--are still to come. This time of year is like when you're a kid, you've just woke up, and you remember it's Christmas morning.

SEASON'S GREETINGS

Here's hoping that your holidays have been filled with peace and joy, and that the beauty and blessings of the season will be yours throughout the new year.

The Story of Our Christmas Tree

It was the week before Christmas, and a man went out to buy a Christmas tree for his family. He looked first at the store that had provided a fine tree last year. They were sold out.

He went to a second place, and the story was the same. No trees left. So he drove some distance to a neighboring town. Here, in other Christmas seasons, there had been plenty of trees.

He arrived at the parking lot and looked where the trees were usually propped in row after row. He saw not a single pine needle. The lot was barren of trees.

Surely people were buying their trees much earlier than in years past, he thought as he turned the truck around to head he knew not where.

As he started toward the exit, he saw something green in the corner of his eye. A tree, a single tree, leaning up against a wall. He pulled around, parked, got out and took a look at this lone pine.

It was a tree, but it wasn't much of a Christmas tree, he thought. It was scraggly, and bent, and thin on one--no two sides. He could see why no one had chosen this tree, why it was the last tree in the lot. Surely his family would be disappointed if this was the best he could do. 

Still, it was the only tree he had found so far. He looked for a price tag. There was none, as though to confirm that this tree had no value to anyone. So he went inside the store and walked up to the clerk at the cash register.

The tree outside, is it for sale? he asked. Oh, I'm not sure, the clerk answered. I'll have to ask...

Then a voice came from the back of the store, from the one who apparently made these kinds of decisions: If you want that tree, you can have it!

The man paused. You mean I can just take it? For free? Yes, the voice answered, take it, and Merry Christmas to you! Merry Christmas to you, the man replied. And thanks.

He went outside and tossed the tree in the back of the truck. I'll take it, he thought, just in case I can't find a better one.

He drove out of town and picked up speed on the highway. Where to now? He couldn't think of another place to look for a tree. And it was getting dark, and close to supper time. He decided to head for home, sleep on it, and go out again the next day.

But as he drove through the December dusk, his mind played over how that scraggly tree had ended up in the back of his truck. And slowly he realized that he had gone out to choose a tree, and instead a tree had come to him as a gift. It was as though he was the one who had been chosen.

Yes, this tree wasn't perfect--who was?--but it seemed to be meant for them. The more he thought about it the more he realized that all this tree really lacked was a place to belong.

So he took it home to his family, and told them the story, and they welcomed it in. He set it up in the heart of their home, and they decorated it with lights and ornaments and an angel on top.

And it was as bright and beautiful as any Christmas tree had ever been.

"Sonnet in the Shape of a Potted Christmas Tree" by George Starbuck

* O fury- bedecked! O glitter-torn! Let the wild wind erect bonbonbonanzas; junipers affect frostyfreeze turbans; iciclestuff adorn all cuckolded creation in a madcap crown of horn! It’s a new day; no scapegrace of a sect tidying up the ashtrays playing Daughter-in-Law Elect; bells! bibelots! popsicle cigars! shatter the glassware! a son born now now while ox and ass and infant lie together as poor creatures will and tears of her exertion still cling in the spent girl’s eye and a great firework in the sky drifts to the western hill.

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George Starbuck, “Sonnet in the Shape of a Potted Christmas Tree” from The Works: Poems Selected from Five Decades.

Copyright © 2003 by the University of Alabama Press.

"A Christmas Carol" by Christina Rossetti

Camels, Heifer Ranch, Arkansas. Photo by Rebecca Stover Roetzel

In the bleak mid-winter
   Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
   Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
   Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter 
   Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
   Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
   When He comes to reign:
In the bleak midwinter
   A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty
   Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
   Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
   And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
   Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
   Which adore.

Angels and archangels
   May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
   Thronged the air;
But only His mother
   In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
   With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
   Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
   I would bring a lamb,
If I were a Wise Man
   I would do my part,—
Yet what I can I give Him,
   Give my heart.

Eye Exercise for Fly Fishermen

Once you can see these in 3D, you'll be able to spot any fish holding in any lie in any body of water.

The Christmas Moon

It's the last--and the smallest--of the full moons of 2013. It's called the Cold Moon, or the Long Night Moon, appearing so close to the Winter Solstice. But I will call it the Christmas Moon.

That doesn't mean this picture is accurate for this year. No, Santa will fly his sleigh under a full moon on Christmas Eve only about every nineteen years. This year he'll be out in the light of a waning gibbous moon. But we can save this picture and use it in 2015--there will be a full moon on December 25 that year.

But this one fits. One could almost imagine it's the night of the full moon in December, 2013, and the world is calm and peaceful and bright, and excitedly anticipating the celebration of the birth of Light.