Photo of the Week

Early morning on the Shenandoah. Breakfast time for smallmouth. Man, I love it here.

Lessons Learned, Immediately Forgotten

The first trout I ever caught, shown here alongside his home water, was caught despite the fact that my rod was too heavy, my flybox was too light and I had almost no idea what I was doing. Tangle, snag, tangle. Knot, tangle, snag. I just could not, with the foliage around me, get my fly even half way out into this very small creek. Leaning against the angled tree you see here, frustrated, I dropped an ant straight down at the roots and fed some slack out. The fly drifted downstream, less than a foot from the bank. I held the rod parallel with the tree on the right side and peaked around the left side just in time to see the strike.

At the time, I almost felt like it was cheating. I mean, I hadn't even casted! I could barely even SEE where the fly was! And it worked immediately. Gee. Hide behind a tree, hide your rod behind a tree, drift a fly along the bank -- once, and catch your first trout. Uh, you'd think I tried that technique several hundred times again since then, right? Wrong. I stand in the water and watch the pretty casts, I wade clumsily and then crouch down the slightest bit as if that equates to being sneaky. I make all kinds of mistakes, I sometimes get it right and have success. But sometimes, even often, I forget to take the time to examine what about that last scenario helped me catch that fish, and apply it in the future.

When I read Tom Chandler from Trout Underground's really great article, The Stealth Fly Fisher: Catching Fish Through Deceit & Trickery, I realized how little attention I have paid to this major part of fly fishing. This weekend I am going to try to remember a few of these lessons and try to be a sneakier, better angler. Thanks Tom.

Barbaro, Bravest Thing on Two Legs

I've been following Kentucky Derby winner Barbaro's progress since, at the Preakness, not more than fifty feet from where I stood cheering him on, he shattered his right rear leg. A lot of well meaning people at New Bolton’s equine medical center are trying every day to keep him alive and get him healthy enough to one day just be a horse again. They are using extraordinary means, both medical and financial, to do so.

I am, first and foremost, a Triple Crown fan when it comes to horse racing. Every year I want a winner, I want someone to break through and win the Derby, Preakness and Belmont. But every year, I am secretly pleased when those who have won it before do not have to let anyone else in the club. Horses like Secretariat (1973), Seattle Slew (1977) and Affirmed (1978) are larger than life, and get larger each year a special horse tries and fails to catch them.

But I certainly wish no horse ill, and Barbaro's injury impacted me greatly. Perhaps it was my proximity to it, but I think also it was that there really was something special about Barbaro. He certainly could have won the Crown, and the way his career ended left an intriguing bit of mystery. Maybe he really did have what it takes. But Affirmed remains the last, and the clubhouse door is sealed for another year.

Barbaro, to me, is a living, breathing national treasure. Until very recently I felt like he must be preserved at all cost, if at all possible. Equine medicine is literally advancing around Barbaro's team, and techniques developed and used to save his life will likely help countless horses in the future. But as I read report after report about how 'courageous' he is, and how his strong spirit is carrying him through adversity, doubt creeps in and I wonder what option Barbaro has. What he is doing is enduring procedures without dying. Does that amount to courage? His left rear hoof was REMOVED after the onset of laminitis, a life threatening condition caused by keeping weight off his opposite, injured leg. Yet he 'fights on.' He even walks when led, and eats when fed. I don't know if that's heart or spirit or instinct. But I'm getting a little worried that there's some anthropomorphising going on over at New Bolton.

I really, really wanted Barbaro to survive. I still do. He is a national treasure and I'm pulling hard for him. And it could already be too late to do what would have been best for him. (My wife has been telling me this for months, by the way.) Maybe Barbaro is strong-willed and courageous, who knows? But doctors need courage too. And with all the technology, money and expertise surrounding Barbaro, I hope that if the time comes, there is enough courage in the room to say what needs to be said, and do what needs to be done.

Photo of the Week

This slippery bastard fell for my fly, but said Absolutely Not to the camera.

The Salmon River Hatchery

If you visit the Salmon River, I highly recommend that you take a break from fishing long enough to have a field trip to the hatchery at Altmar. At the right time of year you can see hundreds and hundreds of salmon. Many were born at this very site, released into the river which flows into Lake Ontario. There they spent three years eating and lifting weights, preparing for their return through this awesome fishery and back to the hatchery. A fascinating process, really, and you can read about it here.