Happy Birthday, Sacajawea

I've been fascinated by her story, and by the exploits of Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery, ever since taking Idaho History in Fourth Grade.

Lewis and Clark. Painting by Jim Carson

Many people may know of her only from the dollar coin struck in her honor.

 
Here, from The Writer's Almanac, is more about this extraordinary person.

It's the birthday of the Shoshone woman Sacajawea, born in Idaho sometime around 1789. She was kidnapped at age 10 by the Hidatsa tribe, sold into slavery, and bought by a French-Canadian trapper who made her one of his two wives. When Lewis and Clark hired the trapper to guide them to the Pacific, Sacajawea — a teenager with her two-month-old baby on her back — was part of the deal. She was the only woman to accompany the permanent party to the Pacific Ocean and back.

Officially she acted as interpreter, since she could speak half a dozen Indian languages. But she also knew which plants were edible, and she saved the explorers' records when their boat overturned. In his notes, William Clark pointed out that tribes were inclined to believe that their party was friendly when they saw Sacajawea because a war party would never travel with a woman, especially one with a baby.

When the trip was over, Sacajawea received nothing. Her trapper husband got $500.33 and 320 acres of land. She died on December 22, 1812, of a "putrid fever," according to Clark's records. She was 23. Eight months later, Clark legally adopted her two children — the boy who had been a baby on the expedition, Jean Baptiste, and an infant daughter, Lisette.

Sacajawea statue overlooking the Lemhi Valley, Idaho,

where she was born, and where she returned with the Corps of Discovery.

Angels and Dudes

Something good has been happening in the fly fishing world. I've been aware of it, I think, but something about this photo finally brought it home to me. The women have arrived.

Photo from The Female Angle

It reminds me of a piece Erin Block wrote, What I Want To Be. What she wants to be is:

"A fisherman. Not a fisherwoman. Not a fisherperson.....I know full well what this belief of mine means, and what writing this means. It means that as a woman in a male-dominated world I have to be as good as, no --- better than --- most of the men. That is, if I want to be taken seriously. And I do. And I will be. I'm not just a pair of breasts in waders. I'm no trophy, nor are my fish.....My kind of feminism isn't sexualized. I'm a woman and I think that's fairly obvious. I don't need to have a pink rod or waders that hug my hips. And I don't need to be overly tough and bitchy to make my point. My kind of feminism, my way of being a woman, means that I will cast and tie and fish as well as men. Not out of spite, or to impress, but out of respect. For you -- and, for myself. I want to fish with you – not against or behind.... A good fisherman. That is what I want to be."

I don't know if all women feel that way. But when I look at this photo I think I understand what Erin is saying. At some point, gender becomes secondary, and we're all fly fishermen.

The Rogue Angels blog has a long list of links to blogs by and about women fly fishermen. They call them "Fishy Blogs by Angels." Erin Block's blog, Mysteries Internal, is in the list.

Then they have a long list of what they call "Fishy Dude Blogs." Yeah, the dudes. The men fly fishermen.

Looking at my blog list on this blog I have lots of dudes and only two angels.

So I was remembering an old saying, that a bird with one wing can't fly. That has been applied, rightly, it seems to me, to gender inequality in our world. The point is that a male dominated society--or sport--becomes like a bird who has cut off one of its own wings.

In that spirit, I'm adding Rogue Angels to my blog list, and, through them, all the angels in their list.

The fact is, I think angels need two strong wings, too. And maybe, just maybe, there's a little bit of angel in every dude, and a little bit of dude in every angel.

Michelle Houle and Rainbow. Photo from Rogue Angels

Sometimes You're the Leopard Seal...,

Sometimes you're the penguin.

flymage #18, April 2013

Don't miss the first article, "Aces Up Your Sleeve." It shows the go-to flies for a wide assortment of flyfishers from Europe and Scandanavia.

And I never knew I wanted to go to Montenegro until now.

Click HERE for all the goodies.

Recycled Plastic Boat Lust

With apologies to Chi Wulff where you will find a regular feature called "Wooden Boat Lust." But seriously, these people should get some kind of award.

Fly Fishing Quote of the Day: David Quammen

Early Lake Report: Another Opening Day

You go back to Early Lake for the evening. It's busy again, and you remember that today is opening day for the people who couldn't get here yesterday. And so on. There is a big group of several families set up for a cookout. The women are getting the fire going while the little kids run around and play. The men and older kids are out in at least three boats fishing.

You're all ready to go, but the two guys at the launch--old fly fishermen, wouldn't you know it--are taking forever. So you head across between the pickups and past the fire and launch by the cattails.

You slip around the budding willows...

And out into the open lake.

You aren't alone. Boats come and go. But you're still enjoying the holiday atmosphere, and everybody is having fun, and fun is contagious.

 You fish and you catch fish. The first one comes to the little mayfly still on the tippet from yesterday. It's smallish, like most of these stockers, but it's pretty.

Others come to trolled beadhead muddlers again, and a bushy brown nymph, and then later another dry fly.

You feel absolutely no pressure. These are eager, inexperienced fish, and you know that you can probably catch them at will. You know others are doing just that, harvesting their five fish limit each day. Soon there won't be so many to catch.

The sun sinks lower in the west, and you pull over to put a jacket on. It has been another 80 degree day, but when the sun is gone it will get chilly.

You kick out again and wonder what to try next.

Then you remember Athena, the sweet daughter of a friend. That's her in the pink.

Way last fall you saw that she had two long hackle feathers braided into her hair. This was back when that fad had apparently created shortages of good hackle for fly tiers. You told her then that whenever she was finished with the hackle you would like to have it to tie some flies with. And that you'd name one after her.

You forgot all about it. Then one day this spring she brings you a long orange grizzly hackle feather. The other one--green--fell apart, she says. So you go to work with the orange one and tie a fly.

It's a big bugger, with a big tungsten bead. You tried it at Rocky Ford Creek, with no luck. Now you wonder if one of these junior trout might like it.

One does. It's small, but it manages to hook itself. The fly looks especially good connected to a trout. You're eager to show these photos of the "Athena" to Athena

You continue to troll with it for awhile and it gets lots of hits, but no more hookups. Too big. You might tie some in a smaller version, but you'll definitely tie up a few more big ones. You think this pattern could be a big hit at Trout Lake when it opens.

Noisy geese circle the lake. You fish on.

You catch more fish. One of them is a jumper.

As the sun settles you go back to a dry fly.

The lake is peaceful. Pods of fish are popping up here and there, and they'll take the dry, sometimes just sitting, sometimes if you twitch it along. The sounds of laughter from the camp fire, and the boats full of kids take you back to your own childhood fishing trips, and to good times with your kids when they were little.

Good memories to enrich a good spring evening. You shake out of your reverie, thank the day, and kick in.

Early Lake Report: A Grand Opening Day

A new day, a new month, and another new season: one of the local lakes opens today. Just one. The rest, including Trout Lake, won't open until the last Saturday of the month. But for now you'll go to the lake you call "Early Lake," the one that's open.

Time to get the float tube up and running after its long winter's rest.

The hand pump isn't in the garage where you thought it would be, but you find it rather easily in the third place you look. You go to work.

You feel pumped up, too, when the tube is finally loaded and ready to go.

You make a stop in town. You check the temp. Amazing.

You go into the sporting goods store. 

With the new month and the new season comes the need for a new fishing license. You get all the paper work done and you're good to go for the next year. Thank you, sporting goods lady.

You go out and check the temp again. Unbelievable.

The lake is well-populated. You're touched by how many people, just like you, have been waiting all winter long for this glorious spring day. The banks are lined with parents and kids and old men with long nets and buckets. Boats move up and down and around. The far west end, what you think of as the "fly fishing water,"  is also in use.

Just like that, you're back on the water again.

You float in the very middle of a big, hot, beautiful spring day.

And you fish. The water is cold and clear, and full of fresh stockers. You troll and strip bead head buggers, and the fish are willing. Later they start coming up to millions of midges on the surface, and you cast out a little dry. They're still willing. You catch all the fish you could want to. Everyone on the bank near you, and everyone who trolls by, are catching fish, too.

It's a grand opening day.