"It is spring again. The earth is like a child
that knows poems by heart."
-- Rainer Maria Rilke
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Friday, March 6, 2015
Rocky Ford Creek Report: Feels Like Spring
It feels like spring at Rocky Ford with a warm sun and temperatures breaking 60 degrees.
The recent winds have churned up the aquatic vegetation, and floating weeds are a factor. But you can still drop a fly down through them under an indicator. A San Juan worm works once on a pretty little fish.
I try all the flies and tactics that worked so well last time, but this is a new day.
A newborn damselfly flutters by and rests at my feet.
A Pheasant Tail nymph works once on another pretty little fish.
Sandhill cranes pass by far overhead, appropriately heading north. Ducks, Grebes, Gulls, Robins, Marsh Hawks, Red Wingeds, Crows, Ravens, Marsh Wrens, and Meadowlarks are active and noisy.
With evening comes the first mosquitoes of the year and a hatch of BWOs. There are duns on the water but only a few trout bother with them. My attempt to match the hatch with tiny dry flies is fun but unsuccessful.
So I go back to the Pheasant Tail under an indicator and get a few farewell bumps before it's time to go.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Trout Heaven
Go with Anders and Krister to one of the best trout rivers in southern Sweden during a Spring hatch of big Ephemera mayflies to catch wild, native Brown Trout on dry flies. This is almost as good as being there....
"Dawn Revisited" by Rita Dove
Morning Fire, Riverside Campground, Henry's Fork, August 2011
Imagine you wake up
with a second chance: The blue jay
hawks his pretty wares
and the oak still stands, spreading
glorious shade. If you don’t look back,
the future never happens.
How good to rise in sunlight,
in the prodigal smell of biscuits --
eggs and sausage on the grill.
The whole sky is yours
to write on, blown open
to a blank page. Come on,
shake a leg! You’ll never know
who’s down there, frying those eggs,
if you don’t get up and see.
"Dawn Revisited" by Rita Dove from On the Bus with Rosa Parks. © Norton, 2000.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Family Post: Artisters
Back in October I was in Indiana waiting for the birth of my grandson Elliot. While we waited I had lots of wonderful time to spend with his big sister Iris. One morning she painted pictures--and her hand.
We hung her art on the door to dry, and I asked if I could take them home with me. Iris was more than happy to let me have them.
Then, on the last day I was there, Elliot was born. In all the excitement I was unable to get the paintings before I left.
I got a big envelope in the mail last week, and in it were the paintings. They are now gracing the wall of my study. This is my favorite.
Iris also painted a new picture for me, and this one is signed. Pretty cool. Her mother Laura made a video of Iris as she painted it. Iris explains that this is a "statue doggy." It's the best painting of a statue doggy I've ever seen.
In the video Iris said, "When I grow up I want to be a real artister!" Her Grandpa thinks she's well on her way.
Her mother, my daughter Laura, is already there. She has been an accomplished "artister" since college. In the envelope was a painting she had done for my birthday.
She writes, "I wanted to do something with one of the flies you'd tied and, scouring your blog, found the one you'd named 'February Thaw.' It was gorgeous and matches your birth month...win/win."
Definitely a win for me. Thanks, Babe.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Sunday, March 1, 2015
SCALE No 16
Walking a very entertaining line between fly and spin fishing. Check out the mind blowing photos starting on page 222.
Find it HERE.
"Written In March" by William Wordsworth
"Late Winter Moon, March" by Peter Fiore
The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!
Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The plowboy is whooping- anon-anon:
There's joy in the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!
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