Tuesday, March 23, 2010

God Loves Ugly

After bangin out the bill payin work for the day, Porkchop and I headed out on a little excursion to check the water conditions.  Shipwreck city.  I mean cookin. 

I thought about what days like this mean to other anglers.  As one who pursues river fish, your life revolves around the flow.  In cycles.  We ride along on this rocketship while the water is right, but one storm or bump in temperature is all it takes to change us into this "high water zombie", prowling access points and staring at unrecognizeable runs or holes thinking: "Damn It".  Some are satisfied with just looking up the numbers on a website.  I however, seem to embrace the visual effect the sight of the river has ripping along, high and muddy.  I get lost for a minute and my life slows down. 

Its part of the pursuit.  Watching a river is something I simply cannot help.  Just like it's impossible to look at a beautiful woman and not wonder what she looks like naked.  Think if the first time we laid eyes on every river we ever fished, they were all running high and dirty.  Would some be like that girl you thought was hotter than she actually was once her clothes were off?      

When the water sucks, we bottle ourselves up.  Get on the vices (literally and figuratively).  Get bored with tying.  Go to the beer store.  Go to the head shop.  Go to the fly shop.  Go back to the beer store.  Go to our other fixes that are readily available until we've exhausted our patience (or money) and then go stare at the river some more.  Everything slows to a crawl when the river is fast. 

But maybe its the way the water balances us.  High water days bring us back to our "civilian lives" just long enough to make us remember why we'd rather pursue one in waders.  Dishes get done.  Clothes get washed.  Sleep gets slept.  Girlfriends call off search parties.  Fly shops see the guys they like.  Booze flows like the river, and who doesn't want that?  If anything, I think we should enjoy our bad water days as much as our good water days!

So in celebration, I have a 6 pack of craft brew on standby and some fresh materials to tie with.  I think I can smell breakfast on Thursday morning.  Now here's your daily dose of Slug, you'll feel better in the AM.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

March Madness

Apologies for the delay in another edition of bourbon fueled antics.  The move went well, and I have sufficiently transformed this ghetto hole into somewhat of an urban fishing/gundog/whiskey-bum... well, hole.

The weather is turning and if you live in the midwest, you might notice an abundance of people standing outside staring up at the sun as if they were waiting for the mothership to beam them aboard.  And, if you're lucky enough you might be finding a minute or two to spend on a local river as long as it doesn't look like some wicked Willy Wonka flowage of horror. 

It has been an adventure to begin to dissect a new territory of water.  While I have not spent as much time putting theory to practice as I'd prefer, I have spent a lot of time riding around in "Porkchop" (my truck) and scoping spots.  Alas, my feet are ready to trade shoes for waders a little more often and feel the weight of new currents gripping me like a first handshake- firm, yet light enough to promote a friendly relationship.

It's also the start of the spring field trial season and the sight of post winter, couch surfing, out of shape and out of practice bird dogs is always a welcome sign that winter is letting go.  I know Chaps is ready to start our spring conditioning program as he made it perfectly clear in his 15 minute tour of the Clyma compound this morning- a 10 minute vanishing act followed by an unproductive on what appeared to be a deer bed.  Oh boy.

Despite the awkward embrace of this season we call spring, those who are seasoned in the transition are still keeping a weather eye.  Winter may have walked out the door, but I've found we share the same habit of forgetting our keys, phone, sunglasses, wallet, ect... only on the very rare occasion do we have a clean departure.

What's your favorite sign of spring?