From Monday’s Daily Chronicle Police Report:

Tags: So What?

Recently, there was a great Joe Posnanski post (its curiously long) about the last night of the MLB (baseball) regular season. For those unfamiliar, let me summarize (don’t worry, it will be quick, I understand the being unfamiliar with the end of the MLB regular season is a choice you’ve made). The last night of the regular season contained more drama, more unlikely endings to meaningful games, and more twists than perhaps any night of regular season baseball ever. I personally missed the whole thing because I was lecturing college students about their misguided use of the semicolon and because my team (The Phillies) locked up their playoff spot weeks ago. But once I saw the highlights and read the stories about what happened I really wished I had set the DVR, though I imagine that such a night is probably not best experienced on tape delay.

Anyway—back to Joe Poz and his argument—a night like that might tempt a baseball fan to try and convert all their non-baseball fan friends to the game. Look at this, you might say, it is incredible. And you’d be right about the incredible part, but I think Posnanski is arguing that you’d be doing your friends a disservice. To be a baseball fan, you have to love the game for what it is. It’s a game filled with a hundred moments of inactivity, of grown men staring at each other waiting for the other to act. A game of seven Tony Larussa pitching changes. It’s a game of failure, a game where reaching base 4 times out of 10 is considered an accomplishment (and yes, I do prefer to OBP to BA). It’s a game played a 162 times a season for each team, and winning a mere 60% of those games often gets you into the playoffs. It is a game that is filled with long silences—to steal a term from Thomas McGuane.

It is surely not a game that provides you with a host of nights like the last night of this year’s regular season.

I think there are some similarities between fly fishing and baseball in this respect. Sure, some fisherman nail them every time out, no matter what. But for many of us it is McGuane’s silences that define the pursuit of fish with a fly as much as it is the successes. In late spring of this year, I spent a full day on Wade Lake—eight hours of casting and changing flies—and got completely skunked. I’m not the world’s best angler, but I don’t get skunked regularly and I was surprised a bit by the whole affair. A month later I experienced some of the best fishing of my entire life (details not forthcoming). While those two experiences are both part of life as a fly angler, neither one is particularly representative of it. Most days on the water (at least for me) are a bit like a baseball game. There are stretches of inactivity that are thankfully interrupted by moments of unique excitement and satisfaction. Hopefully there are enough of the latter to make the former palatable. Either way, its these days of mixed success that make up the bulk of my fly fishing life.

Perhaps because of my often mediocre results, I can’t help but wonder about the staying power of an angler who cuts their teeth catching 26-inch rainbows in Alaska. It’s like being born at the top of the highest mountain, where can you go but down? I can’t help but think that—to grow and love this fishing business—one must have an appreciation for the 4-2 games during the middle of the season, the days when just a few fish rise, or even just one good fish. The days when we bring just enough fish to hand. Because it is these seemingly pedestrian trips that make the good days and the bad days just so memorable. Posnanski really nails it:

Baseball, like life, revolves around anticlimax. That’s what you get most of the time. You stand in driver’s license lines, and watch Alfredo Aceves shake off signals, and sit through your children’s swim meets, and see bases-loaded rallies die, and fill up your car’s tires with air, and endure an inning with three pitching changes, a sacrifice bunt and an intentional walk.

But then, every now and again, something happens. Something memorable. Something magnificent. Something staggering. Your child wins the race. Your team rallies in the ninth. You get pulled over for speeding. And in that moment — awesome or lousy — you are living something that you will never forget, something that jumps out of the toneless roar of day-to-day life.

I love how he groups the good and the bad—that “awesome” and “lousy”—together, because those two opposites are more alike than we might think. Thinking back on it now, I find myself almost as eager to return to Wade Lake and solve the mystery of my skunking as I am to relive that glorious experience of a month later. Funny how that works.

I also think that many of us look to fly fishing for an escape from the “toneless roar of day-to-day life.” But fly fishing—like baseball and so many other things—mirrors life as well as hides us from it. The toneless roar is more pleasing on the water, but those “staggering” moments are only memorable because they are unique. If they occurred on every trip, they would just be more background noise—and we would all be worse for it.

Tags: Culture, Books, Art, So What?, Water on the Brain

Hitting the Guadalupe River later this evening after a little late afternoon work.  First a visit to one of our fav local heartburn factories.  Yep, it was worth it.

Tags: So What?

The pond did look fishy enough this morning.

Waiting on a client meeting and the day’s work to come. All hail the wonder and freedom that mobile computing technology has brought to image processing. We truly live in an amazing age.

Spooked up a few decent fish and a handful of dinks; we’ll show what a little water can do in the desert in the full post to follow (most likely tomorrow given the way this day appears to be shaping up…..).

Tags: So What?

I’ve got a trip coming up soon, one I’ve looked forward to for a couple of months. Right now I am in the uncomfortable-yet-exciting phase in which I am worried about forgetting an important piece of gear or not tying the right flies while simultaneously counting down the hours to lift off. All this waiting and counting and worrying has got me thinking about anticipation and how it pulls the strings on us fly fishers in a dozen different ways.

Perhaps its my bias but I think fly anglers have have a pretty good chunk of the anticipation market. We’ve got this pre-trip anticipation and all that goes with it, but we also have the anticipation that comes with stringing up a rod as we stand by a river. Its a different strain and often more exciting (if there are fish rising it can be quite nerve-wracking). Even the moment when we walk down the trail or take that first step into the river or push the boat off the dock is a moment of what just might be. We feel it in our guts. Today could be the day, the one we’ve always dreamed about. We’ve even got the anticipation of reading about someone else’s trip–that forlorn, unshakeable feeling that one day we will fish that same water and cast to those same fish–even if our logical brain knows we never will.

I think that’s the trick, really. Each day spent with a fly rod on water is so uniquely different (especially for those of us who don’t fish every day) that we can’t help but wonder what the next 6 or 8 or 14 hours holds (if fishing, Alaska in the summer, you can make that 18 hours). I have a theory that every fisherman is something of an optimist. How else could we stand out there waving a rod like a magic wand hoping to cast a spell on the trout. Something in each of us is a believer. And that part of us feeds on anticipation.

I think my favorite anticipatory moments are those first few seconds of a good drift with a new fly.  Generally I am standing calf-deep at the edge of a decent hole where the old fly has failed to produce. Maybe there are trout rising, maybe not. But I feel as though I should have caught a fish and I’ve decided the fly is the reason that I haven’t. So I tuck my rod under my arm and proceed to change my rig. I usually have to swat a mosquito or a deer fly away from my face, maybe wipe the sweat from my forehead. The knots can be a struggle if there are fish rising, and maybe my tippet is too short and I need to tie on a new section of 4X.

Whatever the situation, eventually I reach a point at which I make that first cast. Having already fished the run, I know right where I want to light the fly and let it drift. There are those seconds–that seem like hours–when the fly first lands and drifts over the spot where I think a fish might be waiting. Win or lose, there is something about those first few seconds that courses through me like dry lightning. Something like hope–only more powerful and electric.

Tags: Fish Stories, So What?, Water on the Brain

It’s nice to have feet on the ground back home in Montana this evening.

Jake knocked on my door in Austin at about 130 am Saturday morning and we were on the road by 2 – arrived in Bozeman in time for breakfast today after a 3 hour stop for sleep near the Malad summit on I-15 in Idaho.

The roughly 28 hour drive straight through once again seems a blur, though it’s better than ever to be back in mountain country.

Grabbed stuff for a sandwich and headed back up 191 for a quick fish this afternoon on the Gallatin and then hit Sir Scott’s Oasis for what must be the finest prime rib on the planet.

We’ll be back in the posting groove tomorrow and are sorting out schedules for a little work and hopefully a lot of fishing over the next few days, though what appears to be a frickin’ medial meniscus tear (overly aggressive workout) in my right knee will likely put a crimp in some of my best laid plans.

We’ll be starting a new interview series with Tom Sadler tomorrow or Tuesday….should be great.

Tags: So What?

I’ve been messing around a bit on Google+ over the last few weeks and I’ve been a twitter user for several months now. All this media-based socializing has made me think about an age-old fly fishing conundrum that is only enhanced by tools like blogs and facebooks and twitter feeds: just how much information is too much?

Let’s face it, most fisherman turn to the web for information on where to go and what to use once they get there. Fishing reports are the single biggest web-based draw for anglers (although I think videos are gaining steam).  The conflict comes when the fishing reporter feels like he or she is revealing too much information. Lots of good fly fishing bloggers have solved this problem by using the names of well-known, major rivers while keeping the name and location of more fragile fisheries a secret. This is an excellent compromise, I think, but it flies in the face of social media to certain extent.

The idea of social media is to encourage sharing–the more sharing the more appealing the network becomes–something Google+ is staring in the face right now. But fly fisherman are loathe to share too much (and rightly so), meaning social media can only be so effective when it comes linking the fly fishing community together.

When the Jake and Mark started years ago with The Best Yellowstone Fly Fishing Blog (or something like that, Mark, help me out with the title), one of the primary draws was the daily fishing reports. Yes, daily reports. I remember reading those reports and wondering how they found the time. However they did it, it helped contribute to a popular blog in a unique way: who else was posting reports for every single day?

Now fly shops (like Headhunters) have a vested interest in sharing a ton of info on a consistent basis, but the average fly fishing blogger and social media user will reach a point at which sharing more information might help their internet profile, but will likely reduce their fishing enjoyment. So fly fishing networks on social media are an amalgam of conservation posts (which social media is perfect for), photo posts, links to oddball fishing stories, and cryptic fishing reports. The only problem with this particular mix is that it neglects that thing that most fisherman turn to the internet for in the first place: where to go and what to use when you get there.

Perhaps Google+ with its ease of limiting just who you share with, will change this equation a little. But overall I don’t think it needs changing, not really. Some part of fly fishing is tied to the idea of not knowing exactly where to go and what fly to tie on. I have a feeling that the easier that part of the equation gets to solve, the less enjoyable the answer might be.

Of course that is just one fisherman’s opinion. If you don’t agree leave a comment, or tweet it, or blog it, or tie the message to the leg of carrier pigeon and send it out into the world.

Tags: Chi Wulff, Inquiring Minds Want to Know, So What?

I don’t have a lot of worm patterns in my fly boxes. I fish a few tailwaters but for some reason I’ve never got on the worm train. I don’t have a massive ethical aversion to fishing worms, although they are not my favorite.  I figure that if worms are in the drift, then you might as well fish them. Give them what they are eatin’ is as good a credo as any, I think.  So this isn’t a post to hammer on the Church of the San Juan (or the Glo-bug).  Rather this is a post to say I am ready for the end of worm days, at least for awhile.

If, like me, you’re stuck in an office for most of the week, you might find yourself living vicariously through the fishing reports of others. I know I do. I dream about fishing all those waters the fly shop reports say are “on fire.” I know that some fly shop reports are some hybrid of truth and fiction, but I don’t really care when I’ve spent the last three hours defining acronyms.

For my money, one of the best reports on the web is put out by the guys at The Headhunter. Its updated every day so my virtual fishing somehow seems more vibrant, more real—even though it is not.

But for the last, well…eternity, the Headhunters have been sinking mostly Worm patterns into the depths of the Mighty Mo. They are stringing ten feet of leader between the indicator and three shot then sending the worms to the depths, with good success from what I can tell. Frankly, I’m a little tired of fishing this particular way, even though I haven’t actually made a cast in weeks.

Give ‘em what they are eatin’ boys, I’ve got no problem there. But to the trout: could you please start eating something besides worms? It is practically July. This is ridiculous. I’ve got five days a week that I have to get through. I need to at least believe there are trout somewhere in the West eating mayfly nymphs and stoneflies, or an actual dry fly (we can only hope). How am I going to survive if this keeps up?

Tags: Flies, River - Missouri, So What?

When an outrageous snowpack and a quick turn to summer heat turn streams and rivers to chocolate milk, fly shops need to generate revenue where they can.

Even floating dudes on ‘whitewater floats’ can help pay the bills and gets a body out on the water.

Tags: So What?

I’d be an absolute lying dog if I didn’t admit that She Who Must Be Obeyed and I were as happy as clams to be back in home country.

It’s fairly easy to get a little road rash making the drive from Austin back home to Bozeman in two days, though SWMBO held up well and by the time we saw Monday’s afternoon sun on the Winds we knew we were finally get back into real home country.

There were traffic delays of human and bison origin in Yellowstone, as you’d damned well expect for this time of year.

What’s no doubt the most amazing is the incredible snow pack remaining in the region.  It’s one thing to look at the maps and data charts but quite another to see it first hand.

We’ve not lived in this country forever (just since ’84) but haven’t seen this much snow down low in the 4th week of June in some time.  Hells bells, there are still 6 to 8 foot (or larger) drifts in the southern part of Yellowstone right now, despite the days of recent sun and almost seasonal temps.

There is an amazing amount of mid level snow still around the local environs, which will all be coming out soon given the weather forecast.

As you might expect most water is blown all to hell;  a bright sunny day yesterday with temps in the 70s (at least here in Bozeman) pushed flows on every river I’ve checked this morning.  The Gallatin rose almost a foot during the evening and night, with other rivers soaring as well.

Take heart, there are mayfly hatches on the Missouri and some of the mid level and higher lakes are open;  be ready for some mud and lace up the boots.

There’s always time for a great breakfast.

We’ll grab a few more river pics today and chat with some of the fishing compadres.

At least one good friend has headed to Louisiana to do some redfishing.  Hot damn.

Tags: So What?

Measured flows out of Flathead Lake: 41,300 cfs

That’s roughly 308,945 gallons per second,

Or 18,536,700 gallons per minute,

Or 1,112,202,000 gallons per hour,

And 26,692,848,000 gallons per day.

Tags: So What?

Just back in the barn after a little spin in the truck.

Actually, a bit more than a little spin.

Just under 2000 miles in just over 43 hours.

After an on the job injury (shoulder / rotator cuff) Fire Girl Jess got herself booted out of her barn based apartment on a few days notice and was in need of a rescue of sorts.

Catching up on HB 309 news and relishing not seeing miles and miles of empty space rolling by.

Fishing tomorrow – story and pics to follow.

Tags: So What?

Jake’s post today inspired some pondering.

A life without fly fishing?  Inconceivable.

A life without ever standing in the Yellowstone River scanning for risers?  Preposterous.

A life without at least one afternoon sleepily lazing on a grassy bank and watching the summer clouds roll by?  Unthinkable.

A life without toasting dried chilies on the stove and filling the house with their fruity, chocolaty fragrance.  Absurd.  (Yep, it’s a tamale day today.)

Life’s too short.  Go Fish.  Make Tamales.  Carpe Diem.

Or as Alex and the Fat Guys say – kick some ass today.

Tags: So What?

Tags: So What?

Dammit, I’ve got the flu.

Back in a day or two.

The wife’s new mantra – “don’t kiss me”.

Tags: So What?