Almost Not Incompetent

It's Friday night at the campground, and a little sadness has entered my thoughts.  Not because I'm sipping bourbon and nibbling on Hershey's chocolate and graham crackers.  Certainly not because we got here Thursday night, allowing me to fish this morning.  And not even because it's raining and there's no campfire tonight.  I remembered that Fathers Day Weekend is when we haul the Mobile Hotel® back home.  Our run of pre-summer camping and fishing weekends will soon draw to a close.

Ah, well, the time has been good.  How good?  The first weekend down here in early May left me with a skunk stripe.  This morning was different.  I spent about three hours on the water and managed to lose count of how many brown trout I caught.  I paid close attention to the brookie count (four!) but lost track of the other count after 4 or 5.  Many were missed and many self-released from the barbless flies.  For a brief time, I actually felt as if I knew what I was doing, especially when I managed to catch 3 fish that I missed the first or second times.

Could've been luck, or the law of averages catching up with me.  And I have many bad habits to correct.  But you should have seen those little brook trout.

Present State of Grace

I'll open with this: the band "Flogging Molly" definitely ain't for everyone.  Irish punk is probably a long-tail, deviant fanbase.  At least I'd like to think so.  All that aside, they have produced some acoustic masterpieces.  The feature ditty here has lots of that "deeper meaning" stuff I'm not equipped to decode.  Yet, there's just enough on the surface to set a few neurons firing and evoke a mild-but-deep reaction:  this is goodness, beauty, humor, and irreverence.

The bridge invokes a bit of the spirit of St. Norman:

'Cause only life, yeah only life has loneliness to sell
So celebrate, yeah live your life, live it and raise hell
The true prophet never spoke
He just smiled and saw the joke
And this present state of grace we creatures need

If you'd like some insight into how I could possibly find the Maclean boys in that quote, I invite you to review this piece I wrote earlier this year.  And if you can bear one more acoustic wonder with a brief sprinkling of twangy, bluesy electric guitar, the following never fails to make me smile:

Hoping you find your state of grace, and wishing that your tomorrow is better than today.

--The Fading Angler

49.9 Percent

Allegedly, the sophistication of the Homo Sapien's brain is among the top 5 on the planet right now.  Hmm?  Come Again? Another person died in Yellowstone National Park on Tuesday this week, June 7th.  From The Missoulian (newspaper in Missoula, MT):

Rangers suspended their attempts on Wednesday to recover the body of a man who wandered from a designated boardwalk and fell into an acidic hot spring at Yellowstone National Park, another in a string of incidents raising concerns over visitor behavior.

The full story can be read here.  It's just the latest in this year's growing list of demonstrations of the "power" of the human mind:

• Teen burned after falling into Yellowstone hot spring (also Tuesday, June 7), 2016
• Men face federal charges for walking into Yellowstone hot spring (story from May 17, 2016)
• Man who put Yellowstone Bison Calf in SUV gets probation (incident date May 17, 2016)
• Woman shooting photos gets too close to Yellowstone mama bear (incident from late May or early June 2016)

A few paragraphs from the last article in the list are worth quoting:

If last week's bear jam is any indication, no matter how much information park managers publish or broadcast about the illegality of such incidents, folks either aren't getting the message or just don't care about the rules meant to ensure their safety, as well as to protect wildlife and the park workers called to the scene of such incidents. 

Last week when the woman photographer boldly advanced across the narrow road, I thought for a second that I would witness a bear attack. Luckily the mama bear showed more sense than the woman and moved away from the crowd and up the hill, along with its cubs. 

Yet the incident makes many regular park visitors and staff wonder: What is going to happen next? Or maybe less politely: How stupid can tourists be? No wonder some park workers refer to visitors as "tourons," a combination of the words tourist and moron. Last summer it was bison gorings and people falling from cliffs that made headlines. This year is anyone's guess.

Perhaps the name "Yellowstone National Park" is misleading.  Too gentle.  In our modern world, a "park" is now a place where things are ordered, sculpted, domesticated, and sanitized for your protection.  It's a place for careless romping and playing, where the flowers lack thorns, playgrounds have soft, foamy landing surfaces and there are no sharp edges.  No rules are needed to keep us safe from ourselves in a park.  Maybe Yellowstone needs to be renamed to something more along the lines of "Yellowstone National Danger Area Where Lots of Things Can Kill You Because the Wildlife Are Actually Wild Not Caged or Trained and There Are No Safety Rails So THINK.  Also, Old Faithful Does Not Operate By Pushbutton or Computer Timer." (Yes, there is a story behind that last part, too.)

I will conclude with this fact:

49.9 percent of the population is, by definition, below average intelligence.

Before Breakfast

Source: gadgetreview.com

Wha...?  Oh.  Again?

Looks like I made it through another night.  Fingers fumble with the buzzing iPhone, trying to restore silence.  Establish context through mental cobwebs: daylight, 5:30 A.M., I'm in the forward bed of the camper Mobile Hotel®.  Conclusion: I made plans to fish this morning.  Re-evaluating the plan: struggling to be awake, sore, stiff.

I don't wanna get up.

Much easier to just drop the eyelids and put the mind back in neutral.

Don't be an idiot.  Coffee fixes many morning ills. Sit up and scoot!  Trout don't just catch themselves.

Yes, Master.  As you wish.  You're a real &$$#@!%, you know?

I slide my feet over the side of the bed and prop my self up.  Now comes the fun part.  It's a smaller fifth-wheel RV, so there isn't room to stand beside the bed.  I must scoot myself to the foot of the bed in order to stand and wobble for balance.  It's a three-foot chasm of struggle.  Parkinson's Disease somehow robs me of both strength and multi-limb coordination in the wee hours of daylight.  I push, lift, scoot, twist, push.  How the hell did I gain 40 pounds overnight?  Never mind.  Your feet are on the floor and you didn't fall down.  Congrats.  Where are my meds?

Come Monday...

Luckily, the Internet service at our campground was misbehaving most of the weekend.  Fine with me.  But, now that I'm back in the chair for another four days of punishment work, some of the Little Voices® won't let me focus until I toss something into the blog.

The fishing was great on Saturday.  I spent a few hours back at the stretch where Eddie and I fished a couple of weekends ago.  A couple of trout did me the favor of self-releasing when pulled in close, which is surprisingly easy with crushed barbs.  Two more came to hand, including another MN Driftless brook trout.  I had chef duty at noon, so I hiked back to the vehicle, cringing as I tip-toed though a large patch of blooming wild parsnip.  Danger, Will Robinson, danger.

Brats and hot dogs were grilled and consumed, then a 90-second walk down the creek to the "dog leg" hole.  A few casts, a nine inch brown, and a satisfied stroll back to the Mobile Hotel®.  Two waves of thunder and rain turned the nearly-clear creek waters into chocolate milk.  No worries.  I'm pleased as punch that my new toy angling tool was properly "broke in" on its first outing.

Butter Side Up - Perpetual Motion

I spent a few hours last weekend fishing with my 7'6" Redington Butter Stick on a small creek in the Minnesota driftless area.  My goal was to formulate and solidify some thoughts about using this little 4-weight throwback from modern fast-action graphite.  My first actual use of this rod was two weekends before that, when I took my daughter with me on a short morning hike.  I had her set up with my 7' 3-weight St. Croix Imperial that I purchased exactly for these streams.  While demonstrating some "technique" for my daughter, I was mentally struck by how lively the Butter Stick felt in comparison to the Imperial.  I was impressed with the feel, and with how I was still able to lay some casts into a mild breeze later on in the day.

Over the next two weekends, the Butter Stick became something of an enigma for me.  On occasion, I would lay out the most beautiful (for me) dry fly cast at 30' to 40' distances.   Others, I couldn't get line to shoot, or forward casts just piled up instead of rolling out.  I also determined that I wouldn't be using this for any kind of nymph fishing other than single-nymph.  But you really can't complain when it allows you to pull 3 brown trout out of a crystal clear hole in 15 minutes with a size 18 dry fly.

Source: desktopnexus.com

I'm certain I will spend more time with the rod I now call Mellow Yellow.  But I am reminded of an old joke:  Cats always land on their feet, but toast always land butter-side down.  So, what happen when you tie a butter-side up piece of toast to the back of a cat and drop it out a window?  It spins about a foot off the ground.

I feel a little like that cat right now... dizzy and confused.

Anyone reading this should grab their salt shaker and remember a couple of facts:
  A) I am not an accomplished fly caster
  2) I am brand new to fiberglass.  Just experimenting.

This is just a story.  A very sad little story.  Or maybe a cry for help.  Do not hold this rod responsible for my inadequacies or arrogance.  Renowned dry fly casting expert Eddie Rivard liked the Butter Stick when he tried it.  I will come back to this and try again.  I probably need to concentrate more on the cast than on the fish.

Besides, I have a new fiberglass toy to play with this weekend.

Recipe - Less is S'More

Here's a little something to keep you warming on those cool evenings when you're camping.

1 regular Hershey chocolate bar, whole
1 graham cracker rectangle (4 small sections), whole
1 marshmallow
3 fl. oz. Knob Creek bourbon, 100 proof*

Pour bourbon into small cup.  No water or ice allowed.

While seated next to a campfire, break graham crack and Hershey bar in half. Sandwich half of Hershey bar between both halves of graham cracker.

Toss marshmallow in fire, grin while it burns.  Take a small sip of bourbon, swallow & feel the burn. Take a small bite of chocolate/graham crack sandwich, chew slowly & swallow. Remember to enjoy delicious taste.  Sip bourbon, then take another small sandwich bite.  Enjoy the pleasant synergy between chocolate, graham cracker, and bourbon.

When sandwich is depleted, holler for spouse/significant other to bring another graham cracker for leftover chocolate. Get up and get it yourself when spouse/significant other ignores your desperate plea.  Continue alternating bites and sips.  Consider tossing another marshmallow into the fire for entertainment.

* Those of you who wisely avoid alcohol can substitute a small cup of fresh coffee.  The experience is nearly as good