Dec 1 2008 4:32 pm
why fly fishing is the highest form of angling
The Field and Stream Fly Fishing blog, aka Fflogger, is having a contest: "Please explain to the F&S nation by way of comment below why flyfishing is the highest angling art form." Now I have a lot to say about this and the meaningfulness of the question in the first place, but they only allow one concise paragraph. My explication isn't concise, but it is by definition one paragraph. The thing is, I can't post it there for some reason. It keeps saying it's spam. So I'll post it here and link to it there.
Enjoy.
Most of my friends know that I have a fly fishing problem. Every so often one of them asks me to take them fishing because, “it must be so relaxing and meditative and sooooo nice.” It’s hard to convince them that fly fishing is rarely relaxing. It’s rarely meditative. It’s easily the most frustrating thing I do on a regular basis. That gangly fucking rod with a fifty foot pile of plastic spaghetti spooling out one end or the other or both, the nine or so feet of usually invisible, usually spider web thin leader on the end of that, and the #26 parachute midge on the end of that which you can’t see and are liable to whip off in a second with the crack of an early forward cast, get caught in a spindly branch reaching out over the water on the far bank, or lose to a fish because you didn’t see the “wind knot” that had formed in your 7x tippet. Or maybe you’re dropping 5” long articulated streamers on fat browns hunkered up to the bank and the wind’s picking up and you make a poor cast and the double-hooked monstrosity rockets past your ear, shatters the second section of your brand new super-fast, high modulus rod and then drags the leader and line around the remains in an insane tangled mess that makes you (a) contemplate the nature of probability and the mathematics of knots or (b) curse the bastard that invented fly fishing and spend the next half hour chasing the improbable shambles backwards through time. But then, every so often, just enough to keep me coming back really, I make the whole gangly contraption work. I false cast my sink tip a few times then manage to shoot sixty feet of line upstream. The coils at my feet get sucked off the ground with nary a hitch and fly smoothly through the guides and the line comes tight to the reel. I throw a big upstream mend and take in the slack as the streamer swings down deep in front of me. I take in more slack as the fly swings up and out of the deep and I strip it back in short, methodical pulses and a great silver flash erupts on the fly and I remember to strip set and I remember to adjust the drag and I remember to turn the fishes head when he starts to run downstream and before I know it he’s at my feet, a great silver slab that I can actually touch and call mine for at least a little while. So I guess the thing that makes fly fishing the highest form of angling is that on the face of it, it’s such a difficult way to catch fish, but when the whole unlikely contraption comes together, it’s really a beautiful and rewarding thing. And because I’m feeling proficient on the 9’ rod I think I’m going to step up the gangly and buy a two-hander. See if I can’t make that mess work.
(Check out a cool video about two handed fly rods and spey casting here)
Nov 30 2008 3:33 pm
pennsylvania drinking style
Everyone seems to think that beer goes better with turkey than wine does. I have no idea. But I do know that Troeg's Mad Elf went pretty damn well with my turkey. Mad Elf is a highly sought after strong ale brewed in Harrisburg Pennsylvania and released once a year during the holidays. It is 11% abv. Nominally a strong Belgian dark ale I suppose, it's brewed with honey and cherries. I'm not going to say it was dry, but it wasn't as sweet as I thought it would be. Not cloying. Fairly drinkable. It shows a restrained spice up front with some caramel flavors and some expected but not distracting fermentation character following through the middle. It finishes cleanly with subtle cherry flavor. It quenched the turkey. Mellowed the vinegar-bacon green beans. Complimented the walnut sweet potatoes. And put a warm buzz in my stomach to boot.
Sly Fox Dunkel Lager in cans was quite the find. As some of you know, I love craft beer in cans. It's also a late autumn/winter seasonal. It's brewed in Royersford PA not too far from my folk's house in West Chester. The beauty of this beer, and of any dunkel lager in my opinion, is the fine Munich malt character. It's kind of hard to describe, but I think of it as plump and juicy yet so fresh and so clean. Sly Fox's version hits you hard with a crisp, clean, munich malt blast that's carried on a perfect body. The mouthfeel here is great. The malt character tapers off slowly through the mid palate into a surprisingly brisk herbal hop bitterness. I had many of these fine beers over the last few days. Some of them straight out of the can.
Yesterday we engaged in some homemade Bobby construction at Ben and Leigh's house and had a nice campfire. While it can be inconvenient at times, I know I'm home when everyone brings a case of beer to a party.
Dear Pennsylvania, I love you.
Nov 25 2008 4:46 pm
bad fishing, good eating
J to the UT (Justin) and I went to fish the Indiana tailwater this past weekend. We fished most of the day on Saturday, stayed the night in the beautifully appointed Mound Haven Motel, and fished most of the day on Sunday. The water was high. The temperature was low. And the fishing wasn't so hot. We threw streamers most of the time and caught a few stocker browns. There was a sporadic midge hatch on Sunday afternoon as the sun came out and the temperature climbed into the forties and I caught a another small brown on a midge larva.
But this story isn't about the fishing. It is about the eating.
On Saturday night we stopped into Ye Olde Shack on the main drag in Brookville. Unfortunately the Penn State game was on in the bar and I was DVRing it so I naturally couldn't sit there. So we sat in the dining room. Things started off badly when I asked what they had on draught. "Umm, only bottles. But we've got anything you might want to drink." Hmmm. "Any craft brews?" "What?" "You know, microbrews." "Ummm, we got Bud." "Do you have MGD?" "I don't know." "I'll have a Bud."
The wings were breaded and not that good. The cheese sticks were hollow. My medium rare t-bone was well done and my baked potato was cold. The chocolate fudge sundae was average.
The next morning we ate at the Goldfinch Restaurant on 52 just outside of downtown. We had beautiful plump biscuits piled high with scrambled eggs and sausage gravy and a healthy serving of golden fried potatoes with hefty but not overwhelming spices. It was $6.
We returned to the Goldfinch on Sunday night and enjoyed a very fine, mostly fried, appetizer sampler. I then had a huge, made to order, fried chicken breast, good mash potatoes, and the vegetable of the day, green beans. They were cooked with ham. It was grand.
GO PSU
Nov 21 2008 10:10 pm
who says Kant wasn't eloquent?
From the "Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics" (1783).
"Human reason so delights in constructions that it has several times built up a tower and then razed it to examine the nature of the foundation. It is never too late to become reasonable and wise; but if the insight comes late, there is always more difficulty in starting the change." (section 256)
"The question whether science be possible presupposes a doubt as to its actuality. But such a doubt offends the man whose entire good may perhaps consist in this supposed jewel; hence he who raises the doubt must expect opposition form all sides." (section 256)
"But Hume suffered the usual misfortune of metaphysicians, of not being understood." (section 258)
Nov 20 2008 9:54 am
Thomas Wolfe on this great beverage
From "Look Homeward, Angel" first published in 1929.
"The summer came down blazing hot. Gant arrived for a few days, bringing Daisy with him. One night they drank beer at the Delmar Gardens. In the hot air, at a little table, he gazed thirstily at the beaded foaming stein: he would thrust his face, he thought, in that chill foam and drink deep of happiness. Eliza gave him a taste; they all shrieked at his bitter surprised face.
Years later he remembered Gant, his mustache flecked with foam, quaffing mightily at the glass: the magnificent gusto, the beautiful thirst inspired in him the desire for emulation, and he wondered if all the beer were bitter, if there were not a period of initiation into the pleasures of this great beverage."