what is it about trout?

Is it just the challenge of fooling them?

I recently read that flyfishing for
trout is as much about the simple
fooling them, as it is about the actual
catching. They're smart and finicky
little buggers, perfectionists intent
upon stealth survival.

But isn't there more?

lightfooted up the mtn brook, or
along limestone spring meadow,
it's rare to see a wild trout
beyond a lingering rise form.
So often it's ghostly darting
shadow from shallows to the
safety depth that alerts you.

One false move and
hole ruined.

a precise little quarry, living in
the most amazing, challenging
places. Challenging streams to
fish, challenging streams to survive.
Freestone mountain streams can
get thin, stressful & warm if it's
a dry summer, limestone meadows
lack in cover....Combine/influence
that with Mankind's overall disrespect
for their/our home and I think it's pretty
easy to see what one of those vibrant
little brookies represents.

A healthy population of trout demands
a healthy environment. They can't exist
otherwise...wild, native trout live in
some of the most beautiful places.
Pursuing Mr Trout, beyond all of the
fooling with thread, feathers & wire,
is, and I think will always be, about
visiting those places he lives.

Those secluded remnants of what the
whole of this landscape used to be,
should be. You get to visit, slow
down and become more intimate
with the environs while stalking a
stream. That's as much a part of
the game as casting.

Mr Brookie, or Mr Letort Brown, won't
tolerate rudeness, brashness. He demands
respect, perfection. And I think it's only
fitting, that in order to hang out with
these fine friends, that it must be done,
can only be done, on their terms, and in
'their house.'



along those lines...

Stumbled across this, the late Vince Marinaro
opines about fishing rods, found in an essay
in The Gordon Garland, copy on the way..

To be sure there are glass rods to be seen on the Letort these days but for those who can remember there is a peculiar affinity,– an intimacy and a sympathetic response obtainable in the old split bamboo rod that is not obtainable in the product of the modern glass factory. I fear that we have permitted the scientist, the chemical engineer, and the slick merchandising traps to rob us of much of our pleasure.

In those occasional moments when you are a little weary with the grind of life when you retire in solitude to lick your wounds, do you, seeking a little comfort from an old friend, do you, I ask, pick up your best spra-flex, hypo-dynamic, double-bend glass rod and find that comfort in the cold chemistry of silicate sand?



yeah, if you're looking for 'bike stuff'...
i rode this wknd, it felt good, tired
knees feeling better, rested. a qwik
spin in a few moments will test this

bikes, fishing...for me, yeah it's all
connected. that 'why?' question.
why singlespeed, why fix, why flyfish,
why sketchy, spooky wild trout, why
always paring it down to traditon, old
school styley? mmmm, silk fly line..

because the more I think it about,
the more I realize that I fucking
deal with technology every fucking
day, every fucking minute I'm at
work, whenever I'm out there in
the mainstream world...running
errands, weekly detrious of 'life',
this blog...

Now, why would I want that crap
to invade my time, my space, my
liesure recovery me time? Why do
I do what I do? Is it so I can stay
'plugged in'?

fuck. no.

My time is my time, it's when
I get to reconnect with the
realness of the world, it's when
I get to step away from the
comfortable created artificial
existence we modern folk
have created for ourselves.
the fewer reminders of that
plane, the simple betterness.

(and yes, I get the potential
hypocrisy of all that this
blog implies, if it wasn't
here, then it would be very
poor hand sketches & journal
notes...and ya'll would/will surely
be missing out until that time
capsuel is discovered. :P )

so, anyways, I think I'm starting to
figure out why I do what I do, turnin'
40 causes a pause for reflection...still
lots to learn, always, but feeling like
I've maybe got a clue, found a clue
or two nowadays, enough that I just
gotta ask..

Why do you do what you do? How you
do? I mean seriously, ya'll think I'm
the nut?

Simply put, my time is my time.

So, why would I want my time inundated
with all of that which I'm trying to
escape in the first place?

common sense,
simple common sense.


back to basics.

got myself a little
something something
for myself for my birthday.
Splurged, completing a
promise I'd made years
ago when I parted out the
then unappreciated quiver.
I knew I would fish cane
again, cast a line with that
lovely reed, handplaned,
handcrafted bamboo.

there is no finer instrument
made for spending a moment
with Mr. Trout. just a matter
of time, ya know?

New rod? may as well get
a fresh reel too. Something
to complement the 3wt rod.
Picked up a little disc drag
jewel by JA Forbes. Semi
traditional English machined
barstock style, nice aesthetic,
it holds line well.

Annnnnd, after fishing today,
went one more step and picked
up a silk line. Jim let me cast
one yesterday. Didn't take long
to figure out that plastic is no
match...3 more rounds of pre
conditioning, then it'll see
water, midweek?

Managed to sneak onto
a piece of water for a qwik
spell yesterday during a
circutious commute home
from Coburn. Got in a couple
dozen casts before a line of
gnarly storms blew me home.
Not quite the first outing I'd
hoped for...

So today...well, all the pics are
from today, it was a morning
well spent in the woods.


afternoon into night

Jake's gettin hitched
in June, so we sent
him out via the Man
Camp tradition...

we rode.

there was jousting

Jake goin' down.

and of course, fire jenga.

and other stuff too.



that was a proper way
to start the day, good
to be back on the water.

Reconnecting with old
rhythms, familiar haunts,
a different perspective.



old hinges

my knees are tired, came
out of ski season with a
bang, BANG! couple epiques,
a sprited FredRock session.
And now, the hinges have
been feeling a bit bound up,

Rehab menu is light gear Jabber
Fixy spinnin' around town as
the legs are transitioned to
circular motions, instead of
linear lunging & twists down
ze mountain.

These light spins have been
taking me back to hallowed
limestone springs, observing
the creek, thinking about
those cooling sensations
knee deep in crisp clean
healing. Let the 54degree
flow do its thing, relax
the mind and get lost in
the currents, hoping that
Mr. Trout likes the



dawn patrolin'

well, sort of, forgot how
long the commute to Big
Flat is. Did catch first
rays, just not from the
saddle proper.

it was a quiet, relaxed ride.
Beaver-spin up the road.
Just a pleasant spin, enjoying
Springtime near the water.

Water. It's been pulling on
me recently. Had briefly
entertained thoughts of
playing in a boat, haven't
ruled it out 100%...do I
really need another gear
intensive pursuit that involves
that much driving, that much
extraneous extra stuff...chasing
the water, doing the shuttles...
meh, I do enough of that during
the winter, trying to hang out
with Ullr.

But, man, hanging out in these
environs, it pulls. So, I regrettably
gave some money to The Man and
bought a fishing license this year,
first since '04. Figured if I'm gonna
be on a piece of water where I might
get scrutinized, like fishing evening
sulphers on the LeTort instead of
just chasing brookies up in those
hidden pockets of nowhere in the
Tuscarrora, I should have that piece
of paper, ya know?

wonder how long 'til I'm tying like
that again? practice, practice...I
think I'll start with some simple
hare's ear nymphs.


it's odd.

this writing,
it's odd, it's
interesting, I
mean, if you're
not inspired,
then why write?

why draw?

why ride?

what is the inspiration?

what is the 'why'?

gotta keep looking...


it's all

we go.