Ultimate Competition

24 Nov 2010 at 16:13

Spokane

David Morriss once again got me to thinking about competition. He is correct. The ultimate competition is between the fisher-person and the fish. And, of course, he is also correct that none of us would enter a competition within which we knew we would always win. There have been times in the "ultimate competition" however, when I have wished that I would win a little more often then I was at that particular moment in time. I recall perfect evenings when the "hatch" was on, fish were rising all around me, and I was "shooting blanks". There have been times when I have, literally, tried every fly in the arsenal ~ all to no avail. Gosh a fella's self-esteem suffers during those periods of "bad luck" ~ or should I say inaptness? The process is a lot like putting your kids' Christmas toys together. You never read/study the directions unless you're truly stuck. Oh I might subconsciously watch to see if the risers are hitting above or just beneath the surface of the water and the general size and color of the bugs in the air, but I don't truly "study the situation" until I'm in real trouble, i.e no strikes - no nothing! Then, out comes the little screen thingie. I study the screenings. I sit on the bank and observe flying things. I closely watch the fish rising, where they are rising, how, etc. By that time it is usually dark and as I head back to the pickup, I think, "if I only had a little more time I would have figured it out!" And, quietly, I think to myself, God, I hope no one was watching.

On such occasions, what I'd really like to know is, "how does some vertebrate like a fish that has as a brain a wide spot in its spinal cord consistently out smart the human vertebrate whose brain is capable of opening child proof medicine bottles?" Of course, on those rare occasions when the fish are "biting" and will rise to any thing thrown at them, including those scruffy royal coachmen you tied when you were twelve years old, you know you are catching them because you have superior intellect ~ and of course are a brilliant fly fisherman.

One thing about the human brain we tend to "over think" these things! But, I have learned one thing over the years if you encounter a guide or some such expert that states he/she has never had a "blank" day of fishing avoid em. They haven't fished. Some days you're just out there for the "experience" ~ and if you're like I am ~ loving it .

Gordon

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• 
  PrairieFlyFisher

  28 Nov 2010 at 20:31

  Gordon, When I have really hit my fly fishing zen, it stops even being a competition with the fish. I mean, sure. Most of the time I am out there to rip some lips and failing to land a few fish means I lost. But sometimes, and usually the most pleasant times, that need or urge to catch fades. It just becomes the sounds and the sights. I have even found myself sitting and watching a pod of rising trout, just to watch. Those are the times when I really get something out of fly fishing that I could get no where else.
• 
  Spokane

  29 Nov 2010 at 09:55

  Dan, I know exactly what you mean. It's somewhat like a dance ~ sometimes its just more fun to watch. Unfortunately, we do have "dancing with the stars moments of competition". lol Frankly, I'd rather just dance for the joy of dancing. I guess that was the point of my original blog on competition. I probably got a little "off track" with the ultimate competition blog/idea. Thank you for your thoughts. I think most fly fishers would agree with us.
  
  At another level, I went fly fishing with my older daughter, Jennie, last year and found that my greatest enjoyment was not in fishing but in watching my daughter fish. She had excellent technique and an excellent "feel" for the water, i.e. where to place the fly, etc. I hadn't fished with her for years. I was so impressed and had so much fun! I just sat and watched.
  
  Good to hear from you,
  
  Gordon
  
  
  
• 
  davem

  30 Nov 2010 at 06:45

  Gordon.
  Funny how we mature into different mindsets as time passes.
  Remember when I first started, any not so stellar days would send me into a tailspin. Buy more books, research hatches and tie the latest and greatest flies.
  If I got skunked I would go to my “Fly Shop” the next day to plead with the professionals as to a reason why!
  
  It has never ceased to amaze me that after all these years that watching a rising fish slurp mayflies in the surface film will bring a shit eating grin to my face, how simple is that!
  
  Perfect days now have little to do with the quantity of fish I catch in a day, as my buddy Paul says “ Catching a fish or two on a day like this is just gravy”
  
  Fly Fishing, a perfectly imperfect way to spend the day
  
  David
• 
  Spokane

  1 Dec 2010 at 09:25

  David,
  
  So true...
  
  On a good day you can even detect the sound the fish makes when it slurps!
  
  I especially like the gravy idea. I find it hard to think of Fly Fishing as anything other than perfection!
  
  Hope all is well up "North".
  
  Gordon

Good Manners / Ethics

3 Dec 2010 at 10:23

Spokane

There has been a lot of talk on this site recently with regard to being alone with nature, why I love fly fishing, competition, at oneness with nature, happiness, solitude and so on ~ a lot of esoteric, touchy feely and really important stuff.

Speaking for myself, I enjoy being with my friends while fishing. I honestly do. But to be perfectly honest, it’s the solitude that I enjoy most. An interesting dimension relative to my fly fishing experience is that my friends understand this and share my beliefs ~ we can be alone together. For the most part we stay out of each other’s way and give each other physical space. Oh, as I have grown older I have to admit that I enjoy more being with my friends while I fish and will even upon occasion whilst in the mist of a really good run step aside and say, “why don’t you give it a shot?” Once again, it is just fun to watch. At 30 years of age this was not possible for me.

Occasionally, I will venture out on fishing trips “by myself” usually by necessity because friends have other things to do. Being retired, I often find this to be the case. But, as I’ve said before I enjoy the solitude. Last fall on one of my solo trips I arrived at my destination fishing spot a little early and was taking my time rigging up when a Jeep SUV pulled up behind me. A fellow of a certain type gets out and commences talking with/to/at me. “Have you fished here before? Is it any good? What fly do you usually use? etc.” I politely responded as best I could under the circumstances. The guy walks back to his SUV, quickly rigs up, and begins walking down to the river. I said, “you are not walking in on me are you?” To which he replies, “yes, I guess I am. I got down here first.” Now in my younger days that response might have begun as we say one of those “teachable moments”. Fortunately, this particular river has about seventy miles of paved road running next to it ~ access is not a problem and the “good spots” are many. I was irritated to say the least, but I calmed down and thought, “well, I guess he needs the solitude more than I do” and drove on up the river. As a kid growing up in Montana you never messed with a fellow’s girl, and you never ever stepped in on a fellow while he was fly fishing. Gentlemen just didn’t do that sorta thing.

As a retired accounting professor I realize the important of ethics and how difficult it can be to teach ethics. I also understand the concept of situational ethics. I also grew to appreciate that with young people, simple ignorance was often the basis of poor manners, i.e. they simply didn't know what was expected of them. Fortunately, most of the fly fishers I have met have been highly ethical and thoughtful people. Unfortunately as with most things in life it’s the exception to the rule that we dwell on. Worst thing I could think of was, “he must have been a lawyer and a small claims one at that!” lol ~ just kidding!!

~~

Because I exceeded the maximum number of symbols allowed for a comment I decided to paste this response on to the original blog. ~ gordon

David,

The thought occurred to me that some of our friends on this site might consider us to be somewhat "snobbish". We have the luxury of fishing in some fairly remote places where the chance of human encounter is slight ~ well at least small. In turn we consider our privacy ~space~ to be a "right". As our population increases the chance of encounter with other folks obviously increases. I was reminded of this while fishing with a good friend in Wisconsin where he lives. The area we were in was sparsely populated but the interaction with other humans was definitely greater than it was in Northern Idaho. There definitely was a slightly different set of ethics regarding our fishing conduct.

A close friend of mine had the opportunity to fish in England last Spring. It was interesting to learn of their customs and of the environment in which they fished. Good manners are certainly influenced by the sociological environment within which they exist. More people ~ more chance of personal encounters ~ more rules ~ I am sure.

Would be interesting to hear from our UK friends on this topic. As an example, is the old saying attributed to the English true that "good form" requires that you cast only to a rising fish. Are there rules of conduct that we should be aware of as pressure increases on our favorite fishing sites?

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• 
  davem

  4 Dec 2010 at 06:29

  Gordon..
  What can I say, some people get this and some don’t, fortunately most do though.
  Last season on the Oldman I witnessed something that I thought was just ridiculous, but it did appeal to my sense of humour.....
  I could see a guy upstream slowly working his way down to a really good pool, another guy downstream walking the bank, heading to the same pool....
  When the downstream guy spotted the upstream guy he started running, these 2 characters are about 500 m apart, to lay claim on the pool, to get there he needed to cross the river, and the moron fell in.
  Even after all this he verbalized his claim to the pool!
  
• 
  davem

  4 Dec 2010 at 10:59

  Gordon
  You make an excellent point.
  On the post I made on My Home Water “alant” made a comment “Fantastic, you sure are lucky to have that on your doorstep”
  
  Have really wanted to respond to that comment, but wasn’t sure on as to how.
  
  I think that being in Canada and the US we share a common rule in that we are allowed to fish any stream or body of water if we gain access and stay within the high water mark?
  Which makes us more lucky than just having this water close at hand.....
  
  Have to admit that the water I have seen and read about in the UK looks fabulous, even more tempting than some of the freestone water I have on my doorstep.
  For some reason though, I think that good trout water in the UK is privately owned?
  
• 
  Spokane

  5 Dec 2010 at 08:05

  I too look at the UK water with "lustful" eyes. Much of what I have viewed reminds me of the spring creek water that I was familiar with as a youth in the Livingston Montana area. When I visited the U.K. in the early 90's I saw creeks in Wales that reminded me a lot of our free stone creeks. I did not have the opportunity to fish, however. Like you, I had the impression that assess was a definite problem, i.e. private ownership. My friend who fished in the lakes region last spring had a guide who had purchased the right to fish the stream on Thursday afternoons. He enjoy the experience but admitted it was "different". Hope all is well "up North". Cold here. ~ Gordon
• 
  Tomeo

  5 Dec 2010 at 20:45

  I very much enjoy being by my self when I fish, even when I am with others. I am in my pram they are in theirs. Early last season I had the pleasure of taking a young 8 year old boy fishing at a local lake. After about 15 minutes and a bit of impatience on my part I realized it was more important to let the boy fish than it was for me to fish. We both had an enjoyable day. I asked him today if he wants to go again he and about 3 other boys that heard us talking expressed a desire to go. I think I will be busy this next season. Hopefully I can get other dads to go along. Fishing is a wonderful way to create memories for children and dads.
• 
  Spokane

  6 Dec 2010 at 08:46

  Hi Jerry,
  
  I know what you mean about fishing with children. I really enjoy fishing with my grand kids, but it takes patience. After boat fishing with my older grandson, John ~ he is about 10 years old ~ I decided it was time I got him started on the fine art of fly casting. I rigged up an old fly rod with a old reel. I took off the fly and started him casting, i.e. one o'clock high, back forth, etc. etc. It took him about 3 minutes to figure out if he did it fast enough the fly line made a popping sound like a bull whip. I couldn't convince him that the sound wasn't what we were after. We went back to trolling. Even as a professor of approximately 30 years, I'm not known for my patience. Maybe next year.

Idenification Process

I have a fishing buddy who happens to be a devoted canoeist as well as an excellent fly fisherman. He hails from Edmonton Alberta where he taught at the University of Alberta for twenty years. While in Edmonton he was more of a canoeist than fly fisherman. I am not much of a canoeist so our shared adventures have mostly been fly fishing trips. Many of the streams/rivers that we fish he also canoes with his canoeing friends. Interestingly, on our first trip together he had names for the "runs" we fished ~ names that didn't correspond with the names that my fishing friends and I had for the same runs! Canoeists, as it turns out, are notorious for naming their "waters" ~ the "devil's toenail" is one of my favorites. He has a "ton" of names.

He and I now share names of fishing runs that we have come up with. Paul's hole, Skip's hole, and Ed's run are some of the more nondescript and less exciting names we have handed out. But, we also have "the sewer hole" (it is just below the drain field for the ranger station septic system), the horse camp hole, and the meadows that are more interesting names. We, of course, have many others. But, when we mention the name to our circle of fly fishers, they immediately know the hole to which we refer.

Just as interesting, when we encounter new fishing friends they usually will have a name to describe a particular fishing hole as well. However, their name will seldom correspond to our name. Oh, a few are universal. But few are the same. The one exception, in my experience, is the "sewer hole". Most everyone immediately identifies that spot.

Canoeists, on the other hand, seem to me to have a universal naming system. Perhaps, they are smaller in number and are more closely organized. As a result. they have more universality in identifying their rapids. I really don't know. But find it interesting.

It's also interesting to compare the names given by different groups. Some names are obvious such as names of persons, physical attributes, or locations. Others seem to be the result of personal experiences, i.e. dead man's run.

What are the most interesting names you have come up with or heard? Or do you even attempt to name your favorite runs? I have acquaintances who simply use the mile markers to identify the stretch of water to which they refer. I always thought that to be a pretty unromantic way to approach life! At the other extreme, I know certain fly shops in my experience that seem to take special joy in unusual and sometimes cheesy names.

Gordon

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• 
  davem

  20 Dec 2010 at 06:45

  Good post.
  Most “Holes” that I name usually have something to do with meeting somebody or some other memorable occasion while there for the first Time.
  “Bow Island Jeff’s Pool”, met a guy at this pool on the Oldman, Jeff, that lived in a small town “Bow Island”
  “Bear Shit Run” stepped in some bear shit while I was fishing this run for the first time.
  Have never changed these names, my buddy calls em the same thing and we know exactly where they are. It has become all part of the “confidential reporting system”!
  
• 
  Spokane

  20 Dec 2010 at 09:35

  David,
  
  Your bear shit experience reminded me of an adventure my dog "moose", an Australian Shepard, and I had last summer. We were huckleberry picking ~ just the two of us. I'd been picking for quite a while when I missed moose. I started yelling for him and here he comes. He was completely covered with bear shit. He had obviously rolled in it. He had to ride home in the back of the pickup. I called him a traitor when we got back to the cabin. If a bear showed up he wanted to be considered more bear than human. The coward!! By the way he was a kinda pretty purple color!

If a Doctor were to say...

So..the doctor says,
You're out of shape.
Here's what I want
you to do.

Find a stream
with various sized
rocks covered with
green slimy moss ~
the slippier the better.

The ideal river
will have varying
degrees of depth
and varying degrees
of current speed.

Unbelievably steep
and rocky banks
are a plus.

What I am handing
you are called
waders.
When you get to the
river put these on and
wade into the river.

Before entering the stream
put these boots on
to add to the overall
weight of the outfit.

Attempt to wade
with the current and
against the current at
random.
Wade across the
stream at random
as well.

At all times maintain
your balance.
You may fall a few
times ~ but that is OK.

Remember the feeling
of "pushing water"
is good. Leg cramps
at night after a full
day of doing this is
indication of "success'!

For a change of pace,
attempt several crossings
with the water lapping
as close as possible to
top of your waders.

Oh yes,
upon occasion
fall in.


While doing this
exercise
swing this stick
above your head.

Follow this routine
as often as is possible
and report back to me.

To which the average
person would say
"Are you crazy? You
could get killed doing
that ~ drown or have
a heart attack or simply
get really tired.

And yet a fly fisherman
does the routine
as often as is possible.

And gladly!

Gordon

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Comments

• 
  davem

  14 Nov 2010 at 11:09

  To funny, for a guy like me at 5’ 11’ 250 lbs (just slightly overweight), a pack a day smoker, the very thought of getting up at the crack of dawn to travel 2 ½ hours to my sacred fishing hole and then hiking in for another hour to find my “happy place” has more than once made me question this pastime.
  Is it a passion or an addiction?
  
• 
  Spokane

  14 Nov 2010 at 14:00

  Hi David,
  
  I don't know about you, but for me it is a strange mixture of addiction and passion. I know I start to twitch and get moody as Hell if I'm away from it for any period of time (kinda like when you're first in love). In the Spring I can hardly wait to get "back at it" and usually end up freezing my buns off as a result. But, I love it even when I'm freezing!
  
  I should have included the added exercise of slapping mosquitoes to the original blog!! In Northern Idaho and Montana their presence always adds to the experience and add exercise for the small and large muscle groups.
• 
  FLYFISHINGDOJO

  14 Nov 2010 at 15:31

  A great story. Perhaps there should be a sequel where a psychiatrist advises a patient to engage in fly fishing for stress reduction & good mental health. How many would be better off if they desired to cast little feathery objects at magnificent fish? For now, let it be our mutual little secret while the rest simply wonder, "Why, do they do it?"
  Thanks for the good read. --- Sensei John, Director of Fly Fishing Dojo.
• 
  Spokane

  16 Nov 2010 at 06:45

  Hi John,
  
  Glad you enjoyed it. I've had this reoccurring theme/thought several times during my fly-fishing life, i.e. if a physician asked me to do this I would refuse! One night in particular after a hard day of "pushing water", I had cramps in both of my legs in both the quads and the calves. I thought I was going to die! The next morning I was back on the stream. I thought at the time this is complete craziness.
  
  Gordon

Ultimate competition

David Morriss once again got me to thinking about competition.  He is correct.  The ultimate competition is between the fisher-person and the fish.  And, of course, he is also correct that none of us would enter a competition within which we knew we would always win.  There have been times in the "ultimate competition" however, when I have wished that I would win a little more often then I was at that particular moment in time.  I recall perfect evenings when the "hatch" was on, fish were rising all around me, and I was "shooting blanks".  There have been times when I have, literally, tried every fly in the arsenal ~ all to no avail.  Gosh a fella's self-esteem suffers during those periods of  "bad luck" ~ or should I say inaptness?  The process is a lot like putting your kids' Christmas toys together.  You never read/study the directions unless you're truly stuck.  Oh I might subconsciously watch to see if the risers are hitting above or just beneath the surface of the water and the general size and color of the bugs in the air, but I don't truly "study the situation" until I'm in real trouble, i.e no strikes - no nothing!  Then, out comes the little screen thingie.  I study the screenings.  I sit on the bank and observe flying things.  I closely watch the fish rising, where they are rising, how, etc.  By that time it is usually dark and as I head back to the pickup, I think, "if I only had a little more time I would have figured it out!"  And, quietly, I think to myself,  God, I hope no one was watching.

On such occasions, what I'd really like to know is,  "how does some vertebrate like a fish that has as a brain a wide spot in its spinal cord consistently out smart the human vertebrate whose brain is capable of opening child proof medicine bottles?"  Of course, on those rare occasions when the fish are "biting" and will rise to any thing thrown at them, including those scruffy royal coachmen you tied when you were twelve years old, you know you are catching them because you have superior intellect ~ and of course are a brilliant fly fisherman. 

One thing about the human brain we tend to "over think" these things!   But, I have learned one thing over the years if you encounter a guide or some such expert that states he/she has never had a "blank" day of fishing avoid em.  They haven't fished.  Some days you're just out there for the "experience".

The logic of it all

Fly fishing thoughts
Shortly after Rose and I were married I took her along on a trip to Northern Idaho to introduce her to my other passion ~ fly fishing.  She watched and read as I fished a nearby "run".  I noticed a quizzical look on her face as she watched me make a couple of false casts and deliver the fly in perfect form to a far reach of water.  As we sipped coffee on the bank later in the morning, she asked, "why do you cast it back and forth like that before you put the fly back on the water?"  I replied I was drying the fly.  To which she replied, "if you want it dry ,why do you keep throwing it back in the water?"  

If a physican were to ask.....

So..the doctor says,
You're out of shape.
Here's what I want
you to do.

Find a stream
with various sized
rocks covered with
green slimy moss ~
the slippier the better.

The ideal river
will have varying
degrees of depth
and varying degrees
of current speed.

Unbelievably steep
and rocky banks
are a plus.

What I am handing 
you are called
waders.
When you get to the
river put these on and
wade into the river.

Before entering the stream
put these boots on
to add to the overall
weight of the outfit.

Attempt to wade
with the current and
against the current at
random.
Wade across the
stream at random
as well.

At all times maintain
your balance.
You may fall a few
times ~ but that is OK.

Remember the feeling
of "pushing water"
is good.  Leg cramps
at night after a full
day of doing this is
indication of "success'!

For a change of pace,
attempt several crossings
with the water lapping
as close as possible to
top of your waders.

Oh yes,
upon occasion
fall in.

 
While doing this
exercise
swing this stick
above your head.

Follow this routine
as often as is possible
and report back to me.

To which the average
person would say
"Are you crazy?  You
could get killed doing
that ~ drown or have
a heart attack or simply
get really tired.

And yet a fly fisherman
does the routine
as often as is possible.

And gladly!




To the above add extremely cold weather and little likelihood of success, and you have a steel-head fisherman!

Last fishing trip of the season

If I were a poet, "A Blessing" is what I would say.  I envy so ~ those who possess the ability to "word smith".  All I can come up with to express my thoughts on the last cold day of the fishing season on the St. Joe river is, I step into the ice cold blue  of the upper St. Joe. The air temperature is 29 My nubbins are in danger! Somehow these Gortext waders are not going to "do". And, the Neoprenes are safe at home in dry storage. When younger  I would have remembered. When younger I wouldn't be so cold. We might have known as we grew older the seasons would somehow seem "shorter". But colder  as well?!! Not fair. It's over. Some how this does not compare to "A Blessing".  It was a blessing I made it home with out freezing to death. ;-) A Blessing by Ken Hada After three days of hard fishing we lean against the truck untying boots, removing waders. We change in silence still feeling the rhythm of cold water lapping thankful for that last shoal of rainbows to sooth the disappointment of missing a trophy brown. We'll take with us the communion of rod and line and bead-head nymphs sore shoulders and wrinkled feet. A good tiredness claims us from slipping over rocks, pushing rapids � sunup to sundown � sneaking toward a target, eyes squinting casting into winter wind. We case the rods, load our bags and start to think about dinner. None of us wants to leave. None wants to say goodbye. Winter shadows touch the river cane. The cold is coming. We look up into a cobalt sky, and there, as if an emissary on assignment, a Bald Eagle floats overhead close enough to bless us then swiftly banks sunward and is gone. "A Blessing" by Ken Hada from Spare Parts. © Mongrel Empire Press, 2010 Hope all is well on your side of the mountain, Skip, Gordon, Dad, et. al.

Firings

So NPR is going through it's, seemingly, monthly fund raising and all you hear is the reaction to the recent firing of its conservative reporter, Juan Williams.  Cries are now being heard to remove the federal funding of  NPR.  Prior to the Williams firing, the high profile firing was that of an administrator for the department of agriculture, Shirley Sherrod.  Several other high profile firings have occurred in recent months, but unfortunately they do not come quickly to mind.  However, they all seem to have one common denominator, namely, the manner in which the firings were made and the public reaction to the firing.  They were high profile cases.  Without discussing the merits of each case, my question(s) for the day or if you want to call it my rant for the day is simple.  What has happened to "civility" in our society?  What has happened to "due process"?  What has happened to respect for the dignity of our fellow man?  What has happened to the simple rules of management that require all facts of a particular case be gathered and analyzed before a decision is reached and that you always treat your fellow employees with respect?

Even if the facts of the case merit dismissal.  Slovenly behavior does not beget slovenly behavior. For an executive of a National Organization such as NPR to state on national television that she regrets the manner in which Williams was fired even though she still believes his actions warranted dismissal is unconscionable.  I would assume a national organization such as NPR to have a public relations department.  Maybe they should fire all members of that department!  One can only conclude that they were not consulted.

To expect respect, you must show respect ~ and that includes those persons with whom you disagree on particular political issues ~ even if those views might some how warrant dismissal.  In the Shirley Sherrod case it proved to be true that her statements were taken out of context and that her dismissal was not warranted.  Even if the facts supported dismissal, the manner of firing was done with complete disregard of the personal dignity of Ms. Sherrod.  I don't blame her refusal to accept reemployment with the Department of Agriculture.  I wouldn't want to work with colleagues that demonstrated such behavior either.

As to Williams, I am not sure that his actions warranted dismissal.  I recall an airplane trip to Sofia, Bulgaria from Frankfort, Germany where I was extremely nervous as I viewed the apparel of the passengers around me.  Perhaps a different situation from that of the one that Williams was describing, but none-the-less the description of a "feeling" one has in a particular situation.  I certainly do not agreed with all that Williams believes and oft times states.  Perhaps, other actions of his added to the decision to dismiss him.  However, common dignity would, in my view, require something more than a short telephone conversation stating dismissal.  I don't know all the facts.  But, at this point it would appear that no one else does either.  What a public relations disaster this is!

My rant for the day.  No one will read this.  But I got it off my chest. 

Recession and changes in philosophy

So...I'm listening to NPR as I am eating my South Beach Diet Breakfast of eggs and meat for the upteenth time, and the lady on the radio is interviewing a paint contractor in Ohio.  Seems business for him has really been bad the last couple of years and they were discussing what he has been doing to earn a living and survive.  He says, "I have had a hobby and love of juggling so I decided to pursue that vocation on a more full time basis."  He said he was not able to earn as much money as he did as a painting contractor but that he felt much more fulfilled with his life.  She said, "oh, how is that so?"  He replies, "it has allowed me to become more at one with my balls."  She says without missing a beat, "oh, so you now have a feeling of serenity and completion?"  He replies, in a voice you have to have heard to appreciate, "yes".   To which I thought, Geeze, things have changed.  I've had that feeling for the best part of my adult life and all I ever got for the philosophy was "critisicm and grief."  Maybe, some good is coming from this dang recession.

Just another day in paradise.

Zippo lighters

Rose's recent Facebook post re: smells and Kay's memory of Zippo lighter smells reminded me of the smell of lighter fluid as well.  It reminds me of my friend Al Johnson.  It conjured up lots of memories, actually.  Unfortunately, almost everyone smoked. ;-)  Including my Dad who, thankfully, quit in his late forties or every fifties.

As I read Kay's post I thought "wouldn't it be nice to have one of those old Zippos".    I goggled Zippo lighters and found pages of reference.  Little did I know that people collect old Zippo lighters!!  The human animal is able to "gild almost any Lilly." ~ if you get my drift.  Prices did not appear on the first page I "clicked".  Date of manufacture did.  So I says to myself, "self, 1957, my year of high school graduation, seems like a year of great significance.  Let us see what an actual 1957 model would cost."  $260!!!!  Geeze, I guess I will be going for the replica model @ $14.95.!


As further commentary as to why the smell of stale beer and lighter fluid combined reminds me of Al Johnson, I offer the following explanation. Al was our wrangler on the 4K dude ranch and my room mate though out high school.  We shared the same cabin on the ranch ~ probably the seed of my latent streak of independence.  Al was a fairly heavy party-er; most of the time without me, but some times with me.  He was "into" it much more so than I.  At any rate, after a really hard night in the sauce, Al would come home to the cabin, crack open a beer, and go to sleep.  I would awake to the smell of stale beer and Al drinking the before opened beer while lighting a cigarette with his "Zippo" lighter.

He claimed the practice of drinking a stale beer the morning after did not let allow a hangover to occur.   I actually liked the smell when I was sober and would some times share a drink of the stale beer with Al to start the day.  However, when I, occasionally, got a little into the sauce myself and Al insisted I practice the stale beer prevention program myself,  I have to admit all it did for me was to "speed up" the vomiting process.  It really bothered me!  Hell, I didn't have to drink the stale beer.  All I had to do was wake up and smell the stale beer!  I'm sure the combined smell of stale beer, tobacco smoke and lighter fluid would have killed me.  I never found out because I was out the door and in the pasture vomiting my socks out as soon as I smelled the stale beer.


Ah yes, the stuff of which memories are made.  If you want a genuine replica of an old Zippo, you can find one at,

USA Lighters - Zippo - 1941 Replica #1941

A steal at $14.95!

Whata voice

 10 years old.  So what were we all doing at 10 years of age?  Move over Susan Boyle!

Family reunion

Check out the photos of the reunion that I took.  Certainly not the quality of the CD put together by brother David, but fun none the less.  A big thank you to David for his efforts in putting together the reunion CD.  Hopefully, you all have one by now.  Good music selection.

From Reunion

Hope everyone had as much fun as I did.  We gotta do it again next year!

Skip, Dad, bro, etc.

Eighth grade graduation

Kim had an eighth grade graduation ceremony last month.  Kimmy has played basketball with Francine and Avery since they were all in the first grade ~ maybe before the first grade.  Their fourth player, Alexa, who started playing with them in the first grade has recently returned to play with them.  Unfortunately, I was not able to get a picture of her as well.  I would like to do a documentary on their team as they have matured over the years.  Who knows, maybe I will get to it yet.  At any rate they have been in school together for eight years and the picture is of the three of them at their recent graduation. ~ Grandpa Skip

Mother's day

I found this post in the pocket of my jacket.  I wrote it a week ago while at the lake.  I was going to post it on Mother's day.  But, I forgot. ;-)

I am at Priest Lake as I write this blog.  The past few days in the mountains have been beautiful.  I am reminded of my mother and her constant struggle with living in the mountains, i.e. ranches.  Mom loved the mountains.  She just didn't want to be "of" the mountains.  She was a plains sorta girl.  For her, home was on the plains far enough back where she could view the mountains.  It was hard to argue with her logic.   What we must remember is that she enjoyed being in the mountains ~ for visits!  Billings was her home.

I'm afraid I often times view my memories of mom thorough a somewhat negative filter.  What I must remember is mom really did a great job given the hand she was dealt.  I recently read a story in a book that I bought at a Cambria library used book sale.  It was a book of short stories authored by women.  One of the stories talked about  living with a mom during the forties who was periodically in and out of mental institutions for treatment of manic depression ~ my mom's story.  Mom's mother lived until she was in her mid sixties.  Mom's only memories of her mom were of her constant struggle with depression ~ a manic depression that was often treated by prolonged stays in the state mental institution in Warm Springs Montana.  That's how depression was treated during the twenties ~ institutions.  Mom's stories of her mother were always viewed through the vail of her mental problems.  One of mom's stories I'll always remember was how  grandma was so painfully shy that she would grab mom and hide in the corn field when company came to visit.  Mom said, "it wasn't so bad.  It was our alone time and I had her undivided attention and we would play games."  Other stories involved long train rides back to Wisconsin to visit grandma's parents (to get away from her troubles) and of how when she was young she would miss her mother.

As I reflect on my mom's life.  I am amazed that she did as well as she did.  I admire her toughness.  I'm not so sure I could have done as well.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.  I love you very much.

Gordon

Hiram

I must have been "channeling" Ruben Trejo last week.  As I was cleaning my shop,  I happened to look at some scrap lumber that I had remaining from some furniture that I built for the new addition at the cabin ~ two pieces in particular looked like shoes.  Another hunk of a rough cut log looked like a man's torso with a large belly button.  I never finished cleaning the shop that day.  Instead I built Hiram.  He goes by the name Hi and will be the official greeter at the cabin.  He will stand next to the bird feeder on the Northeast corner of the deck.

The scar on his right breast is the result of a fight he had with a logger.  The logger tried to kill him.   He says he has knots in his stomach from just thinking about returning to the scene of the assault.   ;-)

Gordon, et. al.

Ruben Trejo

See the following links for stories about Ruben Trejo.

http://www.spokesman.com/tags/ruben-trejo/

http://www.spokesman.com/stories/2010/apr/29/remembering-ruben/

I started teaching at Eastern Washington University during September of 1979.  One of my earliest recollections of the administrative building, Showalter Hall, was a work of art by Ruben ~ a wall of wooden neck ties of various sizes, shapes, and styles.  I thought it was neat piece of art;  first because I was a wood worker and second because it was so "wacky"!  Probably one of the reasons EWU made such a good first impression on me!

Over the next 26 years, I learned that Ruben was one of the "good guys". 

Rest in Peace, Ruben.

Gordon, et.al.

Montana

My favorite book of poems is "The Way It Is - New & Selected Poems" by William Stafford.  William Stafford is my favorite poet.  I always have a book of poems by him "close at hand".  For some reason,  I had placed my favorite book of his in a bookcase in the living room and forgot about it.  Last night at two o'clock when sleep would simply not make it's presence known, I tip toed out to the living room to read until sleep became a possibility.  I went to the book case and there was "The Way It Is" ~ it was like re-discovering an old friend. I randomly opened the book and it cracked open to page 37 probably because I had opened it to this page many times before.  And sure enough there under the entry 16 June was the poem "Godiva County, Montana".  Follows is the poem:

She's a big country.  Her undulations
roll and flow in the sun.  Those flanks
quiver when the wind caresses the grass.
Who turns away when so generous a body
offers to play hid-and -seek all summer?
One shoulder leans bare all the way up
the mountain; limbs range and plunge
wildly into the river.  We risk our eyes
every day; they celebrate; they dance
and flirt over this offered treasure.
"Be alive," the land says.  "Listen--
this is your time, your world, your pleasure."

Ironically, I had just read a New Yorker the afternoon before containing a section on promoting tourism in Montana which listed the authors of the state and their reflections on the Montana life style. The advertisement waxed and waned on about the big sky, wide open spaces, etc. etc. etc.  Montana has apparently always been the darling of the Eastern Seaboard.  In a book that I am currently reading, "Lords of Finance - The Bankers Who Broke the World" by Liaquat Ahamed.  On page 49 Ahamed writes about the impending credit crisis in 1914,

Among the eight men gathered at the House of Morgan that Friday morning in August, the one who seemed to understand best the significance of the tempest of events was Henry Davison, Jack Morgan's right hand man--he essentially ran the firm while Morgan, the largest capital partner, lived the life of an English squire.  A few days after the meeting, Davison telegraphed his colleague, Thomas Lamont, who was trout fishing in Montana[emphasis added].  "The credit of all Europe has broken down absolutely.  Specie payments suspended and moratorium in force in France and practically in all countries, though not officially in England...it is as if we had had an earthquake, are as yet somewhat stunned, but will soon get to righting things."

 It was 1914 and people were off visiting the trout streams of Montana!  I wonder if Lamont broke off his trout fishing trip and returned to New York?  I know what I would have done!  Impending finance disaster be damned!

A recurring theme of mine, sense of "place".  Montanans live it ~ experience it.  William Stafford was from Kansas ~ a land of the plains.  Montana represents a love affair of plains married to the mountains ~ the Rocky Mountain front.  Stafford as a plains animal summed up pretty well, in my view, how Montana natives feel about their home.  It's like living with Lady Godiva and being able to "view" her 24 - 7.  Who could "turn away"?

Gordon, et. al.

Crystal Bowersox

 Gonna buy her CD.  I bought Susan Boyle's.  I'm so easssssssy.  :-)

Wild Flower Walk

On our new walk north of San Simeon, we happen upon fields of wild flowers.  The conditions have been perfect ~ rains followed by Sunny days.

A beautiful Day.

Living the dream.

Gordon, et. al.

Rose Rant - nut hatch

Attention to Detail 
By Rose Poirot

I wash windows when I need to focus,

Staring at my reflection in the streak-free surface—

Or iron a long-sleeved cotton shirt,

Inhaling its body-scented steam.

Attention to detail: a resume cliché,

But I understand it

So it’s always a bullet point on my cv.

A nut hatch

Hammering at the cedar siding

Of this ocean retreat:

That bird-brain knows

Attention to detail

Like no human’s ever will.

I listen to its rata-tat-tat

For hours each day: it’s March—nest-building time

On the California coast—

While off to one side, safe in his Monterey pine,

A crow sounds his defiant caw-caw-caw

Disparaging the industry of the much-smaller bird.

I feel my own focus losing itself.

So many fleeting ideas

Like dreams that dissolve upon waking.

“Job-shadow the nut hatch”

Could be my new objective.

March 20, 2010 cc

Gordon et.al.

Saint Paddy's Day

My two Irish People, Katy Bug and John Henry.  Grandpa Joe O'Kinny would have been so proud.  I love this photo!

Saint Paddy's Day will forever be a bitter sweet day for the O'Chapman's.  We are proud of our Irish heritage ~ however faint the line.  But, will always grieve the loss of our grandpa Jack who passed three years ago on March 17.

A toast was in order ~ and taken.

Gordon, et. al.

New feature ~ Rose's contribution

From the album:


"friends and inspirations" by Rose Poirot


Death like a perfect sunset

You know what’s coming—you’ve seen thousands

in your lovely

long life.

Yet the moment still astounds,

knocks you off kilter.

This is it.

So round and absolute.

All the beauty in one

final

round

orange ball—you can taste it.

See its shimmer at the far reach of the ocean

outside your window.

One last scoop of perfect bliss—to savor

as it melts into another world.



(March in Cambria, 7:15 p.m.—a perfect sunset)
 
 
Amen,
 
gordon et. al.

For Clint

Thank you, Clint, for putting us on to the Chocolate Lilies.  We went to the site yesterday.  There they were on the state land in the area across the fence from where we got out of the car.  Hundreds of them.  It is a good time for wild flowers ~ time of year and result of all the rains we have had.  So----it was a good walk along the bluffs above the beach and on the beach itself.  Below are pictures of our day,

Good tide pooling, too!

Gordon et. al.

Brushes and a story untold

Last year Rose bought me a book on water colors in anticipation of our trip to Cambria. It is titled Create Dramatic Coastal Scenes in Watercolor by Carlton Plummer. I have been rereading it the past several early mornings as the author/artist paints works that are impressionist yet involve a lot of technique and detail, an approach that I especially like and appreciate.  At first glance his works seem strictly impressionist with a lot of wet into wet technique.  However as you study the specifics of his particular paintings, you discover many interesting detail painting strokes.  I was especially struck by his description of the brushes he uses and the sheer number of brushes that he uses.  His illustrative picture showed close to thirty brushes.  Obviously his style is not as "easy" as it appears!

While living in the Midwest in the mid-seventies, I had no thoughts of water color painting let alone techniques of so doing.  I was into antiques and old stuff.  My family and I would attend auctions in search of old furniture and memorabilia that I could refinish.  It was not unusual for us to attend two auctions a week.  It even got to the point where we knew the auctioneers and had our favorites.  Some we especially liked for the sing-song sound and cadence of their delivery.  Some we liked just because they seemed to be nice people.  Some we learned were rather dishonest and we simply avoided attending their auctions.

I especially enjoyed going to farm auctions.  I missed my farm roots and looked forward to talking to real people ~ farmers and small town folk.   I can still remember the causal talks I had with them and sage advise received.  I specifically remember one time talking to a local farmer while waiting for a wood lathe, stand, and turning tools to come up for auction.  I wanted it.  They were selling the complete package as one unit.  As we were "shooting the breeze", I heard, "sold for $30" come for the auctioneer.  I turned to discover that it was "my" wood lathe and equipment.  In disappointment, I turned to the farmer and exclaimed, "that was a helluva buy!"  His slow reply still resonates in my mind, "only if you need a wood lathe, sonny."   So true.

Interestingly, at that same auction, I ended up with a cardboard box of full of stuff that I didn't "need".  Thirty-five years later, why or how I ended up with that particular box escapes me.  Often times they would pack up household contents into card board boxes, carry them outside and place them on hay wagons that had been parked in the yard.   Perhaps I had scoped out the boxes and determined that a particular box contained a butter paddle or some such thing that I wanted.  I'm sure I bid on the wrong box as I got it for $1 ~ nobody wanted it.  As I went through the box, the only thing that interested me was a old worn leather pouch.  It was letter shaped with snap clasp on the flap part of the pouch.  When I opened the pouch I discovered about twenty five or so water color brushes of various sizes and shapes ~ obviously well used and well cared for.  I still have the leather pouch and a couple of the brushes in my shop.  Over the years, long before I became interested in water colors, I slowly "used up" the brushes in furniture refinishing projects.  Oh how I wish I still had those brushes.

As I sit here this morning drinking my morning coffee, I think about those brushes and the untold story of thirty five years ago that I will never know.  Whose brushes were they?  Woman?  Man?  Were they still alive when I came upon them?  Or, did they belong to the person for whom the estate sale took place?  Was she/he a good artist?  Were any of the resultant water color paintings in that old farm house?  The artist certainly believed in having a lot of brushes as does Carlton Plummer.  I think of this untold story and I am sad.  Why?  I don't know.  Untold stories, old age, opportunities lost, $1 for something so valuable, unknown disrespect, not knowing?  I, truly, don't know.

Gordon, et.al.