How Traditions Happen…

Fly Fishing: Photography, New Hampshire Fly Fishing: Brook Trout, New Hampshire Fly Fishing: Rainbow Trout, Uncategorized
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Overnights make late evening and early morning water a realistic endeavor…

 

 

If you mix up the following ingredients:

  1. Waves
  2. Boats
  3. Beers
  4. Fly fishing
  5. Favorite people
  6. Dehydrated junk foods
  7. Weather
  8. Silly tent noises
  9. Hot coffee
  10. Camp Fire plus lantern

….expect a tradition to be born. Year 2, and the Andro float is growing in willing campers.

 

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Generations: Passing on the Rod (among other things)…

Fly Fish the Trophy Stretch: North of Northern New Hampshire, Fly Fishing: Photography, Flyfishing Photography, New Hampshire Fly Fishing: Brook Trout, New Hampshire Fly Fishing: Rainbow Trout, The Connecticut River, Uncategorized


I had the honor and all around good fun of accompanying my friend Art and his grand daughter on her first fly wrangling river adventure. A coordinated, focused, and good-humored teenager, she has all of the prerequisite characteristics that translate to fun behind the fly. We incorporate a night camping underneath unsettled skies to up the adventure quotient and find ourselves fortunate to be enjoying our freeze dried meals sans raindrops. 


Once on the water, I am so distracted by the hope of Molly catching her first fish that I find it impossible to move down below them.  I am, in fact, lucky enough to see her reel in her first rainbow and provide netting and snapshot services.  We are off to a good start! 


So, I end up hanging around soaking up the precious scene of generations passing joy.  This is a special kind of teaching- one full of hope that the student will go on to find the friendships, the solitude, the beauty, the escape, and the acceptance that only comes with loving an activity that can never be mastered.  Despite our algorithm driven obsessions to prepare with the right leader, the correct line, 14 sizes of the same fly, the outcome of our day on the water depends on a multitude of factors that do not respond to human influence. It’s a drag…and a hoot!  And for a grandfather, it just might reason enough to sign up to sleep in a tent on a rainy night. This duality -loving the process despite your lack of ability to control the outcome is the cornerstone of resilience.  And resilient people?  Well, they tend to report high levels of happiness and meaningfulness.  And don’t we all want that for the people we love?  Truth be told, you know you’re extra special when someone with lots of years on their skeleton willingly, and gladly, sleeps on gravel studded ground under threat of thunder to find you a cooperative trout!

So, Molly, see you on the river… OR the field, the library, the mountain…wherever you find your  joy.  (Selfishly, your grandfather and I hope the river calls you back because we are usually hanging around there in waders anyway.)

Thanks for having me along! 

The Hidden Joy of an Empty Net

Fly Fishing: Photography, Flyfishing Photography, New Hampshire Fly Fishing Multimedia, New Hampshire Fly Fishing: Brook Trout, New Hampshire Fly Fishing: Brown Trout, New Hampshire Fly Fishing: Rainbow Trout, Uncategorized

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September is behind us and the crisp October morning air has taken to painting leaves. For a fisherman, this is a somber and quiet time where memories of spring and summer intrude without warning leaving the fisher with a gratitude that will transform into longing when snow falls. Knowing this, it has become important for me to honor and punctuate the ending of a fishing season, a ceremony of thanks for the rivers, skies, herons, eagles, friendships, post fishing coffee outings, colorful fish, and moments of pure peace that found me in water.

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This Fall, I have convinced my friend Art to let me organize an overnight float on one of our favorite rivers. A forecasted overnight temp of 29 degrees required that we dress and pack accordingly;winter bags in 3 season tents did the trick. I added an additional comfort for my sleeping satisfaction which included Hot Hands stuck in my socks, pants, hat and wherever else I could get them to stick close to my body. Hot coffee in front of a fire after a chilly night in the bag is a pleasure hard to describe and Art and I quietly colluded to stretch this activity out late into the morning. We decided a hot breakfast would be the pinnacle of delight and drove to the nearest restaurant treating ourselves to a full plate of eggs and bacon, a hot water soapy rinse in the diner bathroom and MORE coffee resulting in a late start on the river.

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The river was high offering 4 sets of class 2/3 rapids consisting of waves that felt Hawaii “surfable” from the perspective of our tiny boats. The sound of this kind of water is a pulse raiser for both of us. We have a tendency to use caution when there is a potential for an injury consequence. So we both reel in for these sections and find our route through the waves avoiding the many boulders that can’t be seen until…well, when they are immediately in front of you. We learn that even 2 foot waves make it nearly impossible to see bad things that lurk behind them. We tackle the route together and meander our way through with nothing much to talk about other than the thrill of a little adrenaline.

The weather is 50 in the afternoon with a chilly breeze and a warming sun. Perfect for lunching. We take long pb&j breaks taking every opportunity to experience the combination of color, temperature, and light that are ever changing as the sun arches over the river throughout the day. Poking fun at each other and reliving memories of other trips this season are important past times that are slipped in between the currents.

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At this point you may be wondering how the fishing was, I mean this is a post about a fishing trip, right? Additionally, the above telling of events seems to indicate that our fly lines spent more time spooled up tight rather than unfurled in water.
Well, the fishing was “what it was” and to spend any effort reporting on it further would be a distraction. The most important lesson I have learned this year was highlighted on this outing: whether it be mile 21 in the marathon, a slow/no fish day, a tough life transition…the way to find lasting meaning within the variable momentum of life is to accept and appreciate what things are for the moment. “It is what it is for now” was my mantra at many difficult points along the 26.2 journey. Some people are smart. They can read and practice Eastern philosophy and integrate this way of being without resisting it. Not me. I had to run a marathon, get skunked on the river repeatedly , and waste lots of energy before getting good at patience. Enjoy the extra moments for sipping and conversing with a friend (even when the fish are biting). Take time for the simple sensations that remind us of our primal selves (i.e. a warm mini tubby in the diner bathroom). All together, these moments are the path to realizing an empty net… full of uncrushable hope.

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On a final note, if you are are a social scientist buff, you may be aware that there are markers that can sometimes indicate a pivotal shift toward a more “evolved” species, group, or society. In the fly fisherman niche, I think the following exchange would be a good marker of such a shift:
Fisherman #1: “Mornin’. Catch anything?”
Fisherman #2: “Yeah. Lots of fish, too many to count!”
Fisherman #1: “That stinks. Sorry to hear it…better luck next time”

 

Carp-tastic Fly Rambling on the Lower Magalloway, Maine

Uncategorized

Set out on an overnight boat trip on the Lower Magalloway River starting at Wilson Mills, Maine (quick water) and ending just north of Errol, NH (wide flatwater).

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In our search for trout, we failed. In the absence of them, we were able to embrace the reeling of the feisty river carp that were hanging over grass beds. Almost like sight casting, we were able to see them holding and cast woolly buggers to their immediate liking. I was surprised to see these fish rising and even more surprised to experience their spirited play on the reel. Sam caught the largest fish, peppering his stash with perch and a solitary smallmouth bass which he was very pleased with.

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So we meandered down the river on day two looking for anyone willing to take a fly…hoping that we would be rewarded for our sportsmanlike adaptability and willingness to embrace the carp-copia…rewarded with one large brook trout who missed the let’s-get-to-cooler-water memo. But no such luck.

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Carpe Diem….and don’t forget the s’mores.

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