Things Isaiah Makes

Isaiah is athletic. He can make touchdowns. He can make baskets. He can make goals. He would like to be a professional athlete someday.

And Isaiah is a very good cook. He can make pasta. He can make marinated pork chops. And he can make cinnamon rolls. From scratch. He got home from soccer practice this evening and started in on a batch. He would also like to be a professional chef with his own restaurant some day.

We got a taste tonight, and let me tell you, he hit a homerun with these.

For Those Who Wear Fur Hats

Just to help you keep perspective...

Norfork River Report: Thanks, John

I'm lucky to have a fly fishing brother. John is his name. Though younger than I, he has been fly fishing longer than I have, and has been my teacher and mentor. He is also "in the business," so I have benefited from his connections and discounts more than once. So has he; he knows people. The following report is made possible by "my guy at Wapsi."

John lives in Maine, but a couple of weeks ago after some family business in Kansas (aging parents) he stopped off at the Norfork River in Arkansas. The Norfork is the North Fork of the White River, famed for its big tailwater trout. He sent me these photos and an emailed report. I certainly didn't get his permission to post them, but then that was implicit in my request. At least that's what my attorney says regarding a possible intellectual property lawsuit. And, as any judge would uphold, we're all one big happy family here, so these are for you, too.

Thanks, John. I'm jealous.

arkansas was great.  did fish tuesday afternoon and most of the day wednesday.  tues was beautiful and pleasant; wed was 40, windy, and rainy, and i was pretty much bone-chilled the whole time.  but there are lots of fish in that river.  pretty much used strike indicator and scud/swobugs the whole time, although did entice a few (missed) takes with little emergers in the film.  best fish was female pushing 19-20" and ripe full of eggs, many of which she squirted into my net.  so, plunked her quickly and unceremoniously back into the water without attempts at photo.  most fish were 14-16" range, with couple in 17-18" range.  caught browns, mostly rainbows, and one cutthroat.  I did try to take some pictures.  they suck, but i'll try to send along what i can at some point.

 
the key to that whole endeavor is that my guy at Wapsi gave me access to prime section of river via his private land, and on wednesday told me where to fish right up at the Norfork Dam since the rest of the river was pretty muddy from all the rain during the night.   i'd have struck out completely otherwise, i think.

It's Good To Be Alive

Friday was my birthday, so I gave myself the present of a road trip to Rocky Ford Creek. Yes, I was also hoping to get one of those big, fat, spring creek Rainbows, but that was not to be. I sure enjoyed what I got, though. That is, most of it.

It was in the high 30's, foggy, and rainy when I left home.

An hour and a half down the road I stopped at one of the amazing landmarks in this amazing state: Dry Falls.

Here, for your edification, is the story of Dry Falls.

I enjoyed being there on my birthday. I'm not that old, but standing there at the site of that ancient cataclysm thinking about geologic time I felt positively young.

A short way on down the road I drove out of the rain and noticed that there was precious little snow left on the ground. This is the Grand Coulee Country, the true semi-arid desert region of eastern Washington, and it's much drier than the valley I live in.

A little over two hours from home I parked, climbed out of the truck, and discovered that the temperature had changed too. It felt almost balmy, though the wind, as is its wont, was whipping down the coulee.

I rigged up and started my hike down this access road. The creek is down there running between the sage flat and the cattail marsh. It's an invigorating little hike. I had passed up the popular stretch of the creek, over by the hatchery with the big parking lot that is often fairly full, and came on south to this, the back door of the creek.

Here the creek flows into a small impoundment. I have had good days here fishing just where the fast current fans out into the wider, deeper flow.

I waded across to the scene of former glories and discovered significant sedimentation where there had been clear water and clean rocks before. Now the rocks were buried under a foot of mud. I made a few half-hearted casts and wandered down through the cattail marsh on the far bank looking unsuccessfully for footing solid enough to get close to open water. By then I had begun to wonder if there were any fish left in this stretch.

Then, as I crossed the catwalk over the spillway, I saw the first trout breach. Not jump, not wake, not porpoise, not rise--breach like a whale: lunge half out of the water, splash back in, and then do it again a few more times. For the next hour or so trout were breaching here and there all over the impoundment.

Big trout. Trout that make you start looking for the earliest opportunity to get back here again.

I found a couple of places on the near bank where I could wade out past the cattails. I fished. I tried a midge dry--the Lady McConnell I just tied up; I tried a muddler; and I tried scuds and micro-leeches and nymphs under an indicator. It was good fishing, if not good catching, and I was totally engrossed.

Then something buzzed through the cattails and hit the water with a loud pop no more than six feet from me. It sounded to me at first like a firecracker. I hadn't heard a shot. But then I heard one as a second bullet popped into the water a little farther away. It sounded like someone with a pistol on the road I had hiked down. I yelled, but the shooting went on, now concentrated on the coots feeding up at the end of the impoundment. While they flew off in alarm I reeled in as fast as I could and climbed onto the bank in plain sight. The shots had stopped, and I saw someone with a rifle way up on the ridge beyond the road. That has to be a good 300 or 400 yards away. He was turning and walking away. I think I saw him look back at me before he went out of sight.

Lots of things go through your mind when you're in the line of fire. The big question was whether I was being harassed by someone--in which case they would be trying to get close but still miss me; or whether some idiot didn't even know I was there--in which case there was a good chance that someone was going to  accidentally shoot me, maybe without even knowing it. I wasn't afraid--I didn't "hit the dirt" in the water. But now I wonder why I didn't. At the time it never occurred to me that I might actually get shot. Instead of being afraid I was angry. I just wanted to confront the shooter, both so he'd know I was there, and so he'd know how stupid he had been.

Well, it turned out OK. I hope that guy has done some thinking and has resolved to be much more careful about his field of fire in the future. For my part, I reflected on the way home that on my birthday I could be grateful both for the year past and for this next year that I still get to live through.

One other thing: getting shot at ruins the fishing. It really messes up your concentration. I found myself glancing back at the ridge top every few minutes.

By then the daylight was beginning to wane, and a big, noisy flock of Red winged Blackbirds settled into the cattails. That's one of the earliest returns I can remember. Spring can't be too far behind.

I stayed a little while longer stripping that Bugmeister--who knows? it might have worked-- then hiked out while the cars down on the highway were turning on their headlights. The hike back up the hill was even more invigorating than the hike down. All the way up I thought about the day and its many pleasures and wonders.

And the whole time I was thinking, "It's good to be alive!"

Teton Love

Five minutes ago...

Keep Looking Up

From EarthSky.

Tonight, the moon, Mars and the constellation Leo the Lion are seen together over the eastern horizon about three hours after sunset. However, Leo’s stars rise four minutes earlier each day, or two hours earlier with each passing month. Sometime in March, watch for Leo to light up the eastern sky as soon as darkness falls – a sure sign that spring is about to return to the Northern Hemisphere. Read the full article.

Wild Zone

Wild Sol Duc Chrome (Moldy Chum)

Good news for wild Steelhead in Washington State. Check out the story over on Moldy Chum.

"February Ground," by Marge Piercy

(For Erin Block.)

Three feet of snow in twenty-four hours

on top of seven inches. Not really

credible here. On the fourth day

we found the car under a six

foot drift and dug it out.

At first we could not open doors.

The post office shut for two days.

Our road had vanished into a field.

We felt the sky had finally

fallen and drowned us.

Six weeks: now patches of ground

emerge from white fortresses.

How beautiful is the dirt

I took for granted. Extraordinary

the wild green of grass islands.

Having the world snatched

from us makes us grateful even

for fence posts, for wheelbarrow

rising, for the stalwart spears

of daffodil uncovered.

Everything revealed is magical,

splendid in its ordinary shining.

The sun gives birth to rosebushes,

the myrtle, a snow shovel fallen,

overcome on the field of battle.

"February ground" by Marge Piercy, from The Crooked Inheritance. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2006.

The Season Begins: Fly Tying Phase

I find myself thinking less these days about fly tying just for fun, and more about tying up something that the trout this summer will fall all over themselves trying to get at. In that sense the season has begun, as I begin to plan and research with the lake firmly in mind; and, most importantly, as I visualize being on the lake throwing these flies to those trout.

Both of these flies show promise. I saw them tied on two separate local fly tying shows on TV, and in both cases a little bell went off in my head. They've been around for awhile, but I had never tied them, or fished them.

Now I've tied them, and I can't wait to fish them.

The Bugmeister. Developed by John Perry, a Montana guide. (At least that's who Orvis credits for the fly.) A classic attractor pattern that can be adapted to imitate anything from skwala to stoneflies to hoppers. I found three very different versions of this fly in one quick check on the internet. The common denominators are the deer hair tail and wing and the wingpost and parachute hackle. This version is pretty simple, but the trout at the lake have simple tastes. This could be the Carpet Caddis of 2012.

The Lady McConnell. Originated in 1979 by Brian Chan, British Columbia chironimid guru, and named after McConnell Lake near Kamloops, where it was first tested. This is a lake fly, designed to imitate an almost fully emerged adult midge. Seems to me there might be, oh, about a million times next summer on the lake when this could be the right fly to try.

Now back to that exhausting research.

Things That Glow

Tonight's full moon. When it rose it was 99% full, but it was soon at 100%.

Jeremiah's new lava lamp. Over several months, each time he and a friend went bowling

they shot baskets in the arcade until he had saved up 2,000 tickets.

He's very proud of it.

A spider who lived on the pump at the forest service campground

up on the mountain where the Redbands live.

The dorsal, in the evening sun, of one of the Rainbows at the lake this past summer. 

A rough chunk of amethyst, the February birthstone,

February being the month of my birth.

My daughter Laura, expecting her first baby in April.

We've known for some time, but we're getting more excited by the day.

It will be my third grandchild--and my first granddaughter!

february flymage

You'll like flymage.

"311," by Emily Dickinson

It sifts from Leaden Sieves —
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road —

It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain —
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again —

It reaches to the Fence —
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces —
It deals Celestial Veil

To Stump, and Stack — and Stem —
A Summer’s empty Room —
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them —

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen —
Then stills its Artisans — like Ghosts —
Denying they have been —

A Cautionary Tale

I had the misfortune to have my email hacked last week. All of my contacts--work, family, friends--received emails from me assuring them that I had the secret to instant wealth.

Those who knew me well figured out right away that it wasn't from me. They knew I wouldn't have the faintest idea how to achieve instant wealth.

As a result of the hack my account was "cleared" and I was required to jump through many hoops in an effort to reestablish my identity, reset my password, and reclaim my account. Unfortunately, the many hoops led to many dead ends. I finally gave up and opened a new account with a different email provider.

All well and good, except that it has required me to rebuild my contact list from the ground up. That's not impossible, but it is certainly a pain.

So here's a simple recommendation: print out or save a copy of your contact list on a regular basis. Seems so simple. I will do it now. Wish I had done it before. (I bet all of you have always done that, and I'm the only poor sod who didn't.)

It goes to show that technology, too, is shifting sand. And it's good to be reminded that the things that provide the solid rock on which we stand--the people we love and the natural world--don't need to be plugged in, and don't depend on "servers" or "providers." They are by their nature servers and providers.

It makes all these idealized images of snowy retreats very attractive. I figure not one of them has internet access. Nice.

Woodchuck Day

(From A Field Guide to the Mammals, Burt & Grossenheider:)

WOODCHUCK   Marmota monax
(Ground Hog, Marmot)
Recognition: Head and body 16-20 inches; tail 4-7 inches;wt. 5-10 lb.
This heavy-bodied, short-legged, yellowish-brown to brown animal is best known in the eastern part of its range. Belly paler than the back; hairs on body have a slightly frosted appearance; feet dark brown or black; no white except around nose. Skull has 22 teeth. There are eight mammae.
Similar species: (1) Hoary Marmot -- black and white on head and shoulders. (2) Arctic Ground Squirrel -- smaller; feet not black.
Habitat: Open woods, brushy and rocky ravines.
Habits: Diurnal for most part; may wander at night in early spring. Feeds on tender, succulent plants. Dens in extensive burrow with two or more openings; may be 4-5 ft. deep and 25-30 ft. long; known to have excavated dirt at 1 opening, others dug from below, concealed. Hibernates Oct.-Feb. Home range, 40-160 acres. Voice a shrill whistle. Lives 4-5 years. Mates in March or April; breeds at 1 year.
Young: Born April-May; 2-6; gestation period 31-32 days; 1 litter a year. Naked; blind.
Economic status: In an agricultural area the Woodchuck can do considerable damage to crops; in other areas it is probably beneficial, since its burrows are refuges and homes for many other mammals -- game and furbearers.
February 2, 2012: Saw its shadow.

February Thaw

Maybe it's a defense mechanism, or a sign that by this time Winter has most certainly unhinged me, but I consider February to be the first month of Spring. If you look around and notice what's happening each day, and day by day, you might agree with me.

This is the month that the changes begun by the Solstice reach a momentum that can't be stopped, a critical mass that slowly but surely brings Winter to its knees.

So Happy February! In honor of the month I tied up this fly, which I am calling "February Thaw."

Yes, this is the beginning of the end, and every fly we tie brings us closer to the day when we can finally once again cast them into the trout's lair.