Discussion in 'Fly Fishing Forum' started by Coach Duff, Oct 2, 2006.
It's not just the content, it's the substance and style.
Now that is funny.
Good point!! I'll work on it. There is some quality writing in this thread.
My best estimation is the ice spread out at a rate of about a foot per second. It was just a smallish rock pool up in a glacier cirque, maybe 60 feet across at the widest spot, just above timberline. Less than a minute from the time my fly hit until it was covered with a sheet of 1/8 inch-thick ice. Completely sci-fi.
It was a total long shot to have all the right conditions to see a snap freeze like that (rapidly cooled, very pure water that hadn't been disturbed until that moment). I looked up a bunch of stuff about freezing super-cooled water the next week, and even with controlled lab conditions it's hard to consistently replicate the effect. I was happy to find out I wasn't hallucinating, though!
In that same area, on another trip, I heard some animals (large!) in the brush near camp. There's griz up in the Selkirks (not many), so I got a little nervous. Out of the woods comes these deer/elk-like creatures, with antlers like I'd never seen. Turns out they were Woodland Caribou. Three of them walked through my camp, totally unafraid. Almost extinct, maybe 20-30 of them left in the lower 48, all in the Selkirks. A wildlife biologist I know calls them "mythical ghosts".
After I found that out, I felt lucky to have seen them, and that was the only time I saw them in twelve years of tramping around in those mountains. But this is the weird thing:
They all had leather collars on, with radio trackers. They were like big hunting dogs. I kept wanting to yell "fetch!".
Well, maybe not so much 'weird', but definitely incongruous.
Snake that is amazing.
I love that the Wilderness has the power to instill shock and awe in a highly educated, even jaded human. Nothing compares.
More like highly jaded, even educated.......
And who you callin' educated??!!
Keep yankin' my chain Zen, and I'll have to post a trip report about my summer trip on your favorite secret river...........
tobad that roadshow is already over in a way, onto the next one with a little further hike in...
Yep. Tramp a little further, work a little harder, explore a little deeper.
And maybe you can experience what was common in your grandad's day, when he was fishin' from the road.
Or avoid the 'publicized' areas, find your own secret spot, and keep your mouth shut.
Damn. I am a jaded S.O.B.
I admit it I was skipping most replies to this thread because it was too long. I did however read this one and just about spit my coffee all over the keyboard. :thumb:
Hey thats one of them thar rubber worm thingys. You can git 'em online from the BassPro Shop. I know pink rubber worms work for Steelhead. The one you hooked looks more like a Jerk Bait. Someone must have been targeting hens on their redds. I have heard you can sometimes git a few girlie bucks to hit on one of those as well.
"Not that there is anything wrong with that" - J. Seinfield
I understand completely. In First Marines Recon in Korea we didn't have access to alot of the medication you guys later on did. So, we got by with 190 cut with grapefruit juice. We chased it with Goebel's beer. Semper Fi.
How about a little "Soju" Les? Terry
Not sure, but I think that might just scare the cr@p out of me were I to see that out in the woods by myself at night...
A few years back three of us are camping out on the Lochsa. About quarter to five in the a.m. I wake up ready to give birth to whatever we cooked over the fire the night before. Just then I hear my father-in-law in the next tent stirring about. He's a quick one and I knew there was no beating him to the crapper. Sure enough he gets the jump on me and makes his way. So a minute behind I crawl out and head in the same direction. About 30 yards short I notice this thing coming from the other direction headed for the same place. A little closer and I see it's this great big dude who's either half animal or has been in the woods too long. Yup, he's rough. Problem is he has a couple of steps on me so I know he's ending up 2nd at the crapper. I figure the only thing to do is outsmart him..shouldn't be too tough. My advantage is the knowledge that the men's side is occupied. Sure as shit he heads straight for it only to pull on a locked door. Simultaneously I cross behind and quickly duck into the ladies' side. By the time he figures it out I've dropped the bomb and am sitting comfortably revelling in my success. Then I hear all this loud grunting and groaning next to me, figuring it's the father-in-law taming a wild one. I was about to grunt back to make fun of him but was laughing to hard to do it. Later I bring it up and he says he thought it was me! Come to find out, instead of going away or hitting the bushes, the guy hung out moaning a groaning out loud until he could get in.
I figured end of story until a couple of hours later when he showed up at our campsite. Just when I thought he would beat my ass for outsmarting him at the crapper he asked for some of our eggs and bacon. Since there were 3 of us and one of him we told him to beat it. ...Only in Idaho...
Funny thing is, some guys will think you are just kidding...
Damn!!! That Is Funny As Crap F.f.!!
That was funny, I'm broke up. Ya gotta love the Idaho boys. I've met some wild-ass fun dudes on the Clearwater. Coach
One gorgeous summer day in 2005 I was all alone with my 5 wt, enjoying some excellent sport on cutties (and the odd sucker) on the lower Cedar. The local osprey hovered high overhead as usual, his too-high, oddly mismatched Tysonesque songbird chirps softly cheering every trout release in hopes of a free meal. Suddenly, I saw a raft approach slowly from downstream. Nothing too odd about that, as many people like to row up as far as the currents allow, frantically padding their Sevylor of choice. However, there was something decidedly different about this strange watercraft........as it got closer I saw an apparition at the helm.
A faceless, featureless, seemingly detached giant dark Afro appeared to levitate slightly above the raft, nestled firmly in the bow, bobbing gently to and fro like a big black Newfoundland puppy with a perm. The sight of this furry, fluffy medicine ball perched in the raft reminded me of the great Julius Erving going up for an off-the-backboard-behind-the-back-grab-and-smash in the NBA Slam Dunk contest in 1976.
I saw no human attached to this mighty mass of wobbling fuzz. It was ethereal in it's Nerf-like mass. Many odd and unsettling thoughts crossed my mind as this gelatinous, gyrating Jeri-curled wonder approached slowly......"How can a detached, massive Afro steer a raft? Is an Afro a sentient being? Is Sly Stone coming up to join me on this riffle? Will he ask for some 5X fluoro to tie soft hackle droppers off his Afro Wulffs? Will he thank me, and let ME Be Mice Elf....again?"
The closer it got, the more The Afro (by now, it had it's own nickname) brought back memories of my own youth in Northeast Portland (or "Northeast Poorman", as the privileged, affluent, hated Kappa Sig Frat Rats at Oregon used to call my 'hood on the walk home from classes before they returned to their Frat House for more of that Greek loving). It brought back great memories of me and my black pals, laughing, riding our Huffy 10-speed bikes and playing baseball behind Grant High School with a ball covered in electrical tape..........The Afro stimulated fond memories of watching Jimmie "Dy-no-mite" Walker in his Good Times heyday, and the proud anger of Angela Davis as she waged war against The Man ...........
Slowly, ploddingly, The Afro approached. I waited............I cast...........The Afro looming ever closer. As The Afro got within 50 yards, I could just make out a flyrod protruding from The Afro in much the same manner as a Japanese woman might use chopsticks to keep the bun in her hair nice and neat while she pours green tea for the misogynist "Sararimen" in her office.
The raft came to a crunching stop on the river gravel. The Afro remained motionless, save for the soft undulating motions of it's curly locks as the breeze pushed it around like an ebony field of wheat.
Much to my shock, out from behind The Afro stepped a beautiful, nubile young blonde beauty in a tight green tee shirt. The Afro stayed put, ever watchful, ever waiting.
The young blonde waded out ankle deep in the riffle and returned to the raft. The Afro did not move..................yet I saw the flyrod that was protruding from The Afro moving around as if set in motion by a ghostly hand. I heard a manly voice cursing....."shit! where are my stimulators! Where are my size 12 STIMULATORS?"
"Surely this manly Popeye The Sailor curse stream didn't emanate from yonder Young Nubile Blondeness?" I thought. I moved in closer to inspect Blondie and The Afro. I was close enough to see the flyrod was a 6 wt TFO...........yes, a TiCrX, a 6 wt, with a fighting butt............and an odd-looking reel, apparently lacking even ten feet of backing.
Just then I gasped..............The Afro arose! Yes, The Afro arose from it's lofty perch in the bow of the raft! The Afro stepped out of the raft, said "howdy", took three casts and hooked and landed a 24" rainbow. I know. I saw. I took photos of the fish. I was there.
The Afro lives.
And that is how I met Troutingham.