More nice stuff from Red Truck.
Good quality in full screen. Some painful outtakes at the end.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Christmas Comes Early
Click on photos for full size image.
Our little town had its "Christmas Fest" last Friday evening. Carolers were out all along the streets accepting donations for the local Food Bank.
The Christmas lights were up and brightly lit.
And Santy Claus came in a big fire truck with the lights on and the sirens going. That's me on his lap telling him I want a new truck.
I must have been a good boy. The next day we closed the deal on a new used truck. Whoopee!
I borrowed it for my trip to Oregon in October and loved it. Turns out it was for sale. It's a 2004 Ford Ranger, and that's what I'll be able to do now: range. My home range has suddenly expanded, and my list of homewaters has increased exponentially.
Thanks, Santy. It's going to be a good year.
Pere Marquette Journal: Entry Two
"After ten hours of sleep I hit the river again. It was a beautiful day, sunny, and warm enough that I bought a new hat. I had left my old battered fishing hat at home (thinking it was in the trunk) and had only a stocking cap. That would have been too warm, and I had discovered in the glare of the sun the day before how much I needed a brim on my hat. I looked for a wide-brimmed hat, but could only find the ubiquitous ball cap. So I bought one. I may never wear it again, still wanting to find a good Stetson-style hat, but I'll keep it in the trunk in case I want to be trendy once in awhile.
On this day I rigged my 10-weight with floating line and used a strike indicator. I started at the same run as the day before, and after half an hour or so I was drifting my fly through a deep run under an overhanging tree. I was using a Nuke Egg. On the third cast there was a take right under the submerged branches of the overhanging tree. It was nice while it lasted.
The line tightened and the drag sang and then the line went limp. The fly was still on, and as far as I could tell there had been no contact with branch or root. I still don't understand how hooks can be in deep enough to pull line through the water, arc the rod, and make the drag whine, and still just pop out.
That was it for the day. I covered a lot of water and lost a lot of flies, mostly ones I had tied myself. Everyone I met, both in boats or on foot, were also fishless, though some had caught Browns up along the bank. (I think my brief encounter was probably a Brown.) All were looking for Steelhead, too, and were perplexed that none were up on the gravel, where they are eminently visible in their spawning rituals, along with the trout that dog them waiting for drifting eggs. I read later in the week on the web site of a tackle shop in Baldwin that they had come up on the gravel the day after I was there.
I didn't stay until dark, my usual summer routine, but left for home with the sun setting before me. Next time."
To be continued.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
It's a Miracle
Click on photos for full size image.
It's a miracle, really, one of those common miracles that hold the universe together. You get a load of wood in...
You clear the new snow off the trusty chopping block...
You toss over some of those big half or quarter rounds that still need some chunking up...
You chunk them up...
You toss them back in the woodshed to be stacked up anew...
You haul some into the house and lay them up just right in the wood stove, add fire, and there you have it: long, slow, radiant heat for a long winter's night.
Friday, December 3, 2010
One Ray of Sun Doth a Winter's Day Make
Click on photos for full size image.
It was nice while it lasted.
Pere Marquette Journal
I got a comment from Fishbeer recently. He recognized the Bloomington Farmer's Market in a photo on my Thanksgiving post: What I'm Thankful For
Nice call, but he's a Bloomington man who gave up the White River and Brown County State Park to guide and fish on the Pere Marquette River in Michigan.
Another nice call. I really like Bloomington, but I love the Pere Marquette.
In those dark years when I was a fly fisher living in Chicago, I yearned for cold, moving water and trout. I made one trip a year to the Henry's Fork, but I made as many trips as I could to the PM. I'm pretty sure those trips saved my sanity, what there was left of it. I got to know the river pretty well, at least the section from the Clay Banks to Green Cottage. And whereas the Henry's Fork was a test of my skill, the PM was a testing ground where I could improve my skills. It's also where I first fished for Steelhead, for better or worse.
So tonight, thinking about how I could get this blog focused on fishing again, I pulled out a journal from those years, a gift from my daughters.
I humbly share the March 22, 2004 entry, ver batim.
"I entered a river for the first time this year on this day. I headed back to the Pere Marquette to try my hand at catching the fabled Steelhead.
The trip is down to a routine developed since my first venture to that river when Isaiah was just a baby. I leave on Sunday night, sometimes early, sometimes late, though almost always after the kids are in bed. This time it was very late since Jeremiah was in his sleepless mode, having fallen asleep for a fatal hour or so in the afternoon. I tied some extra flies and Jeremiah hovered first at one elbow, then at the other. He knew I planned to leave, but when I implored him for the fifth time to please go to bed because I had to leave, he said, "You don't have to leave; you want to leave."
He was right of course, but there was nothing accusatory in his tone. He, at five, is almost as crazy about fish, flies, and fishing as I am. I think he was interested in motivations and justifications.
So I left at midnight, Jeremiah in bed but still awake, calling out goodbyes. It's a four hour straight shot through minimum traffic to a Rest Area sleeping place just south of Ludington. The drive was good, and I entered the familiar zone of steady speed along the interstates with the dark country rolling by outside, the big lake unseen but always present to the left, the radio and glow of the dashboard keeping me company.
I arrived at my Rest Area on schedule only to find it closed. The sign said, "Until Spring," which was already a day old. I weighed my options. I could drive on another hour or so to Baldwin and try to find a place to sleep for a few hours in a couple of camping areas I know. But I needed some supplies for the two days I planned to be at the river, so I drove on to just east of Ludington to the Meier's where I usually stop after waking in the morning.
It was 4:30 in the morning, but the store was open. So I did my shopping, all except my Dickel's--not until 7 AM, the clerk said--and headed on east to Baldwin.
False dawn was lightening the sky when I got there. I first tried a USFS campground, but the entrance was a rutted quagmire of frozen mud and snow. So I headed through town and took a dirt road to the Clay Banks access point, thinking I could sleep in the parking area or in one of the camp sites there. The lot was deep snow, churned by four-wheel-drives. No way my little Corolla could get through there. I almost got stuck backing out of the narrow rutted lane to the lot. So not only my sleeping options, but also my fishing options, were narrowing. I headed to my other access point with a narrow parking area along a paved road, hoping it would be clear of snow.
Dawn was breaking when I got there. It was clear of snow and I pulled in and paid my $3 for the day's parking pass. I was legal. I was also exhausted. Another concern I'd had as I had approached Ludington was the temperature. It was in the 30's when I left Chicago, and the forecast for the Baldwin area that Monday was for a high in the mid-40's. But when I roared past my Rest Area my car's thermometer was registering 14 degrees. And when I pulled into Baldwin it was a startling 4 degrees outside. Now, at my parking area, it was a balmy 5 degrees.
I have spent some cold nights in Michigan, in tent and car, and have been awakened by the cold to crank over the engine and let the heater lull me back to sleep again. I was prepared to do the same, but just as I put the seat back and closed my eyes the sun came up and flooded the car with light.When I woke up three hours later the car was warm and cozy. Ah, Spring.
I headed back to Baldwin to Ed's Sports Shop, thinking I needed a new license, but I discovered my old one was good until March 31. So I got my 10-weight repaired instead. The tip had inexplicably snapped off last Fall while I was still mid-river, and I had fished out the day in that condition. I was pleased to discover that I could get a new tip guide glued on for only $1.78. Now newly geared up I headed back to the river.
I donned waders, boots, vest, and as many layers of clothes as I could and trudged down the fisherman's path through the trees to the river. It was a little high, but wadeable. I saw right away that it would be a crowded day. Drift boats were stacked up as I hiked upstream to find some open water and likely runs.
I am a novice at the art of Steelhead angling, and I experienced the impatience of not really knowing what I'm doing as I began dead-drifting flies through runs and pools. Some anglers came up behind me and one of them hooked a nice Steelie in a run I had fished moments before. I stepped back as he played the fish downstream past me and landed it in the shallows. As I watched him resume fishing (now downstream of me and working water that I had intended to work) I watched his technique and decided to change to a floating line the next day and maybe even use a strike indicator.
I fished on downstream, dodging drift boats, trying my best at drifting flies, but also throwing streamers, hoping for a trout or two. But by 2:30 or so in the afternoon I had seen nor felt hide nor hair of any salmonid. By then I was back at my path to the car, so I decided to call it a day early, get a cheap room, and get some sleep, looking toward the hope of a new day.
I made a stop at What's His Name's General Store, got a room at the Alpine Motel, and settled in with cable TV and Dickel's to keep me company."
Nice call, but he's a Bloomington man who gave up the White River and Brown County State Park to guide and fish on the Pere Marquette River in Michigan.
Another nice call. I really like Bloomington, but I love the Pere Marquette.
In those dark years when I was a fly fisher living in Chicago, I yearned for cold, moving water and trout. I made one trip a year to the Henry's Fork, but I made as many trips as I could to the PM. I'm pretty sure those trips saved my sanity, what there was left of it. I got to know the river pretty well, at least the section from the Clay Banks to Green Cottage. And whereas the Henry's Fork was a test of my skill, the PM was a testing ground where I could improve my skills. It's also where I first fished for Steelhead, for better or worse.
So tonight, thinking about how I could get this blog focused on fishing again, I pulled out a journal from those years, a gift from my daughters.
I humbly share the March 22, 2004 entry, ver batim.
"I entered a river for the first time this year on this day. I headed back to the Pere Marquette to try my hand at catching the fabled Steelhead.
The trip is down to a routine developed since my first venture to that river when Isaiah was just a baby. I leave on Sunday night, sometimes early, sometimes late, though almost always after the kids are in bed. This time it was very late since Jeremiah was in his sleepless mode, having fallen asleep for a fatal hour or so in the afternoon. I tied some extra flies and Jeremiah hovered first at one elbow, then at the other. He knew I planned to leave, but when I implored him for the fifth time to please go to bed because I had to leave, he said, "You don't have to leave; you want to leave."
He was right of course, but there was nothing accusatory in his tone. He, at five, is almost as crazy about fish, flies, and fishing as I am. I think he was interested in motivations and justifications.
So I left at midnight, Jeremiah in bed but still awake, calling out goodbyes. It's a four hour straight shot through minimum traffic to a Rest Area sleeping place just south of Ludington. The drive was good, and I entered the familiar zone of steady speed along the interstates with the dark country rolling by outside, the big lake unseen but always present to the left, the radio and glow of the dashboard keeping me company.
I arrived at my Rest Area on schedule only to find it closed. The sign said, "Until Spring," which was already a day old. I weighed my options. I could drive on another hour or so to Baldwin and try to find a place to sleep for a few hours in a couple of camping areas I know. But I needed some supplies for the two days I planned to be at the river, so I drove on to just east of Ludington to the Meier's where I usually stop after waking in the morning.
It was 4:30 in the morning, but the store was open. So I did my shopping, all except my Dickel's--not until 7 AM, the clerk said--and headed on east to Baldwin.
False dawn was lightening the sky when I got there. I first tried a USFS campground, but the entrance was a rutted quagmire of frozen mud and snow. So I headed through town and took a dirt road to the Clay Banks access point, thinking I could sleep in the parking area or in one of the camp sites there. The lot was deep snow, churned by four-wheel-drives. No way my little Corolla could get through there. I almost got stuck backing out of the narrow rutted lane to the lot. So not only my sleeping options, but also my fishing options, were narrowing. I headed to my other access point with a narrow parking area along a paved road, hoping it would be clear of snow.
Dawn was breaking when I got there. It was clear of snow and I pulled in and paid my $3 for the day's parking pass. I was legal. I was also exhausted. Another concern I'd had as I had approached Ludington was the temperature. It was in the 30's when I left Chicago, and the forecast for the Baldwin area that Monday was for a high in the mid-40's. But when I roared past my Rest Area my car's thermometer was registering 14 degrees. And when I pulled into Baldwin it was a startling 4 degrees outside. Now, at my parking area, it was a balmy 5 degrees.
I have spent some cold nights in Michigan, in tent and car, and have been awakened by the cold to crank over the engine and let the heater lull me back to sleep again. I was prepared to do the same, but just as I put the seat back and closed my eyes the sun came up and flooded the car with light.When I woke up three hours later the car was warm and cozy. Ah, Spring.
I headed back to Baldwin to Ed's Sports Shop, thinking I needed a new license, but I discovered my old one was good until March 31. So I got my 10-weight repaired instead. The tip had inexplicably snapped off last Fall while I was still mid-river, and I had fished out the day in that condition. I was pleased to discover that I could get a new tip guide glued on for only $1.78. Now newly geared up I headed back to the river.
I donned waders, boots, vest, and as many layers of clothes as I could and trudged down the fisherman's path through the trees to the river. It was a little high, but wadeable. I saw right away that it would be a crowded day. Drift boats were stacked up as I hiked upstream to find some open water and likely runs.
I am a novice at the art of Steelhead angling, and I experienced the impatience of not really knowing what I'm doing as I began dead-drifting flies through runs and pools. Some anglers came up behind me and one of them hooked a nice Steelie in a run I had fished moments before. I stepped back as he played the fish downstream past me and landed it in the shallows. As I watched him resume fishing (now downstream of me and working water that I had intended to work) I watched his technique and decided to change to a floating line the next day and maybe even use a strike indicator.
I fished on downstream, dodging drift boats, trying my best at drifting flies, but also throwing streamers, hoping for a trout or two. But by 2:30 or so in the afternoon I had seen nor felt hide nor hair of any salmonid. By then I was back at my path to the car, so I decided to call it a day early, get a cheap room, and get some sleep, looking toward the hope of a new day.
I made a stop at What's His Name's General Store, got a room at the Alpine Motel, and settled in with cable TV and Dickel's to keep me company."
To be continued.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Basketball Report: A Loss and a Win Streak
Some in the past have expressed a wish that I would post less about family. My family, especially the sisters, have expressed a wish that I would post more about family. I try to achieve a balance.
It would be nice if I could regularly post about fishing with my sons and daughter, but Lidia and Jeremiah are the fishers, so that would leave Isaiah out. And, of course, there's no fishing with anybody at the moment.
But this blog is about all the perfect moments in life, and right now for the boys--and for me--those moments are happening on the basketball court. So, more game reports.
I like to think that I am making a valuable contribution to their development as athletes with these videos. Both boys wait impatiently for me to upload their videos on game night. Jeremiah pores over them, and once in awhile will say something that tells me he's learning from watching his play. Same with Isaiah, except he'll find the video he likes best, like the court-length pass he made in last night's game, and watch it over and over.
The Seventh Graders lost yet again, but I think they're all feeling much better about their play, and are having a lot of fun out there. Jeremiah keeps improving, and is learning how to get open, and fake out the big boys. He scored ten points last night, including a nifty three point play.
The Eighth Graders won big again. A streak! I haven't clarified that Isaiah comes in as the sixth man. He was disappointed at first not to be a starter. But every time he comes in he makes a great contribution: fifteen rebounds last night, six points, and two real nice assists. I think he ought to be a starter, but he's OK with things the way they are. Besides, for him anything other than football is a minor sport. He's just keeping in shape until Fall.
It would be nice if I could regularly post about fishing with my sons and daughter, but Lidia and Jeremiah are the fishers, so that would leave Isaiah out. And, of course, there's no fishing with anybody at the moment.
But this blog is about all the perfect moments in life, and right now for the boys--and for me--those moments are happening on the basketball court. So, more game reports.
I like to think that I am making a valuable contribution to their development as athletes with these videos. Both boys wait impatiently for me to upload their videos on game night. Jeremiah pores over them, and once in awhile will say something that tells me he's learning from watching his play. Same with Isaiah, except he'll find the video he likes best, like the court-length pass he made in last night's game, and watch it over and over.
The Seventh Graders lost yet again, but I think they're all feeling much better about their play, and are having a lot of fun out there. Jeremiah keeps improving, and is learning how to get open, and fake out the big boys. He scored ten points last night, including a nifty three point play.
The Eighth Graders won big again. A streak! I haven't clarified that Isaiah comes in as the sixth man. He was disappointed at first not to be a starter. But every time he comes in he makes a great contribution: fifteen rebounds last night, six points, and two real nice assists. I think he ought to be a starter, but he's OK with things the way they are. Besides, for him anything other than football is a minor sport. He's just keeping in shape until Fall.
Basketball Report: A Loss and a Win
Three games in a row this week. Both teams did better on Tuesday. The Seventh Graders still lost, but by a respectable margin. The Eighth Graders played hard and took a win.
Both boys played real well, and tonight they did even better, but those videos will be in the next post.
Jeremiah continues to gain confidence and is taking more shots. And making more.
Isaiah still looks real good to me out there, and he, too, is making more shots. His game ended a little early, as you will see in the last of his videos, when he took a hard fall and hit his head. He said he was fine right after the game, didn't have a headache, and could have kept playing. After a concussion in football I think he knows whereof he speaks, but better safe than sorry.
Both boys played real well, and tonight they did even better, but those videos will be in the next post.
Jeremiah continues to gain confidence and is taking more shots. And making more.
Isaiah still looks real good to me out there, and he, too, is making more shots. His game ended a little early, as you will see in the last of his videos, when he took a hard fall and hit his head. He said he was fine right after the game, didn't have a headache, and could have kept playing. After a concussion in football I think he knows whereof he speaks, but better safe than sorry.
A Literary Link
There's a new web site that promises to bring us the new literature of fly fishing. There's a link in the right margin of this blog if you want to check it out.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Snowing
Click on photos for full size image.
The snow is coming down, but so far it's light. Just a nice touch up to the world.
The mountain is veiled until its Grand Re-Opening.
The rock face across the road is a study in contrast.
The dogs are celebrating their Husky heritage.
And the wading boots are still waiting forlornly in the pickup. Maybe it's time to put them away for awhile.
Basketball Report: Lost
Click on photos for full size image.
Both teams lost last night. They played a school from a town that has the reputation, true or not, of recruiting kids to their sports program by enticing families with talented kids to move there. I suppose that's the kind of rumor that gets started when they consistently beat you in every sport.
Jeremiah's team lost by 50 points, and they were lost in the big trees again. They played against a seventh grader who must be 6' 2". But they did their best.
Isaiah's team lost by 30 points, even though they got off to a good start. They didn't have the excuse of playing against guys much taller than them, but they did get schooled in the fast break. Maybe they did their best. But, boy, I hope not.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Chance of Snow
Looks like we could get a little snow...
This Afternoon  Snow Likely Hi: 20F | Tonight Snow Lo: 16F | Tuesday Snow Hi: 25F | Tuesday Night Chance Snow Lo: 19F | Wednesday Slight Chc Snow Hi: 29F | Wednesday Night Slight Chc Snow Lo: 18F |
Thursday Chance Snow Hi: 23F | Thursday Night Chance Snow Lo: 14F | Friday Slight Chc Snow Hi: 21F | Friday Night Slight Chc Snow Lo: 13F | Saturday Slight Chc Snow Hi: 19F | Saturday Night Slight Chc Snow Lo: 9F |
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Trout Fly of the Year Awards
Click on photos for full size image.
I've been thinking a lot about the past season, now gone and much missed. It was a good season, and a few special flies helped make it so. It's time to honor those flies with the Trout Fly of the Year awards.
TROUT FLY OF THE YEAR
The best fly of the year, far and away, was what I came to call the Big Bomber. At a time when hoppers should have been bringing slashing strikes, the fish assiduously ignored my hopper flies. I tied this on one day on a whim and on the first cast a very nice Brown slammed it. For the next two months this fly--sitting still or stripped, dry or wet--consistently worked the fish--big and small, Browns and Rainbows--into a tizzy.
RECIPE
Hook: #6 2X streamer hook
Thread: Black
Tail: Light deer hair, thick
Body: Black dubbing, thick
Rib: Wide gold tinsel
Wing and head: Natural deer hair, head clipped
FLY OF THE YEAR--FIRST RUNNER UP
In a similar fashion this fly, the Carpet Caddis, saved the Spring. I couldn't buy a surface take until I finally tied this on. Fish came from yards around to grab it before it could get away. The season came alive with this fly.
RECIPE
Hook: #12 curved shank 2X streamer hook
Thread: Black
Tail: Olive Antron yarn
Body: Olive dubbing
Rib: Thread
Underwing: Black Krystal Flash
Overwing: Olive Antron yarn
Hackle: Brown saddle, oversized
SECOND RUNNER UP
This little Stimulator came in handy at odd moments when the action slowed down on other flies. I tied this fly on in late October when the big fish were up but not touching any of my tiny flies, and it took the honor of bringing in the best fish of the season--maybe of all my seasons at the lake--the now-famous slab of a Brown. Nice fish. Nice fly.
RECIPE
Hook: #12 curved shank 2X streamer hook
Tail: Black deer hair
Body: Orange dubbing
Rib: thread
Wing: Black deer hair
Hackle: Brown saddle
HONORABLE MENTION
These flies were consistent fish getters under certain conditions. When trolling, I almost always went with a Micro Leech, red or black. And I had some fine days early in the season when I drifted the orange Caddis Nymph under an indicator.
SPECIAL CATEGORIES
BEST LAHONTAN CUTTHROAT FLY
I tried for a long time to hook one of the over sized Lahontan Cutthroats at a nearby lake. It was this big soft hackle that finally did the trick.
BEST MOUNTAIN TROUT FLY
I had a wonderful time catching beautiful little trout in a tumbling mountain stream. I cut and prepared a rod from a wild cherry sapling, put on about six feet of 5X line, and tied on this little caddis nymph. They loved it. I loved it.
BEST FLY TIED UP JUST FOR HALLOWEEN
The last day of the lake season was Halloween, so I tied up a fly in honor of the occasion. It's a big Stimulator, primarily black (black being the key ingredient in any fly at this lake; as Henry Ford said about the model T, "You can have any color you want as long as it's black.") with an orange rib and orange wing. What do you know, it worked.
PRETTIEST FLY
I don't know, I just think this is a pretty fly. I haven't seen it in a long time, I don't remember if I caught anything on it, and I have no idea where it is right now. Maybe I lost it.
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