Patriot Day

Today, I find myself thinking of that horrible day nine years ago. I was in my classroom when the first plane hit the World Trade Center. My students and I watched as the second plane hit its target, and we were all aghast as the towers fell.

Nine years, but it seems like only yesterday. The memory is fresh. So too is the anger.

Today, The Rusty Spinner isn't thinking much about fishing.

God bless the souls of those poor unfortunates who - nine years ago today - sacrificed their lives to a hateful ideology. God bless their families. God bless our soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines who fight to right a wrong, and to keep the rest of us safe.

God bless The United States of America.

We Just Can't Win

Mr. Smith Goes to Arkansas

The first time I fished with Shawn Brillon, I was left dumbfounded. It must have been some ten or twelve years ago when I met him at a predetermined spot alongside a little tributary to the main river. As I recall, it was in the predawn moments when Shawn parked his Grand Cherokee, exited, walked to the rear, and popped the hatch back. From a bag in the back he pulled out a bottle of brandy, and upended it. When I refused his offer of a hit, he again upended the bottle, this time draining it. While I looked on, he sat on the tailgate, donned his waders, and dropped five or six cans of cheap beer down inside. After blowing snot out of each nostril, he looked at me and exclaimed, "Well, I'm ready fuck nuts. What's taking you so long?"

Shawn and I have both come a long way since that first trip together. We both drink better beer, although not nearly so much as we once did, and we try to stay away from the brandy. I'm a teacher now, and Shawn is the fly and fly tying product developer for the Orvis company. I find I'm sometimes jealous of Shawn's job. He travels quite a bit; often going to Colorado, Idaho, the Florida Keys, or Montana. He has the opportunity to fish in places I'll likely only ever dream of fishing. Most recently, Shawn visited the White River in Arkansas as part of a trip to Wapsi.

As you'll see from the photographs included below, Wapsi isn't nearly so ... antiseptic ... a place as you might otherwise imagine. There is fur and fluff everywhere. The equipment used to process the materials so many of us use is somewhat archaic, and looks to have done duty in a 19th century textile mill. The sheer volume of material is absolutely staggering. Also staggering is the quality of fish the clowns at Wapsi take after dark. Clearly, Mountain Home, Arkansas is a fly tyer's nirvana.

How much marabou do you suppose could be dyed at one time in these vats? For reference, those are canoe paddles laying across the top.

Saddle hackle ... half full or half empty?

Someone has a lot of venison in his freezer.

So, what do you do for a living? Oh .. you know ... I staple rodents to plywood.

Dubbing mixer?

Is that you Bambi?

Oh ... the humanity!

Z-lon or Rapunzel's hair?

Somebody turned the Wapsi boys loose on Sesame Street.

Anybody know where I put that bag of 500 pink bucktails?

Just in case anyone needs to tie 525,000 dozen hendricksons.

I'm pretty sure this thing was pictured in my 11th grade history textbook in a section on child labor.

And now I draw your attention to the center ring.

New Stuff

The Rusty Spinner is now offering steelhead and carp themed merchandise in the storefront.

You know you need a new coffee mug.

The Prince Nymph

We all have our go-to flies; those little bits of fur, feather and wire that - when tethered to the business ends of our leaders - always seem up to the challenge of stinging a few willing fish. Conversely, we all have those flies that we disdain, and avoid with near religious fervor. Perhaps they were recommended to us by the kid at the shop. Perhaps they were gifted to us by an ignorant spouse. Perhaps the fish gods spirited them into our boxes as a means to test our resolve. My resolve has been tested.

I fished Prince Nymphs for years. I tied them skinny. I tied them fat. With beads and without. I used the best hooks and bushels of the choicest herl. Dozen after dozen came off my vise, and never - not once mind you - did I ever hook a fish on one of the flies I so painstakingly tied. Not so much as a bluegill, sunfish, or pumpkinseed ever saw fit to grace my fly with a take. 

So now I say, "Down with the Prince, and a pox on his house!" Never again will this royal imposter defile the manicured rows of Pheasant Tails and Hares Ears, which fill my favorite box. Never ...

Blogroll: The Green Eyed Monster

I'm relatively new to this blogging thing. I've only been at it for a little over a year, and I've scribbled fewer than 150 posts. I do enjoy it though. Blogging gives me the opportunity to do the one thing I genuinely miss about working in a flyshop - talking about fishing - without actually having to work in a flyshop. I wonder if that's how it is for other bloggers.

The thing is though - blogging cannot take the place of conversation. Talking fishing is as much about listening as it is about speaking, and that's why I follow so many other blogs. I'm frequently surprised by the diversity of thought and opinion in fly fishing's corner of the blogosphere, and I'm always amazed at the breadth and depth of talent demonstrated by my fellow bug chuckers. Here are a few of my favorites ...

I don't know the Flyosopher personally, but I do know him as a writer. In simplest terms, he's good. With choice diction and clever turns of phrase, he takes the most mundane aspects of our sport, and turns them into gold. He maintains and infrequently updates a bug chucking blog that is about so much more than fly fishing. Each post is worth the wait. He's a better writer than I am, and I'd be lying if I said I was just a little bit jealous.

Pat Cohen has maintained the Warm Water Journal for a relatively short while, and he's only been tying for one and a half years. The blog is simple and straight forward, but the flies he sometimes features are wonderfully complex. His bass bugs look better than anything tied in my vise in the 25 odd years I've masqueraded as a fly tyer. Pat's work keeps me humble.

Simon Graham maintains Pike Fly Fishing Articles. He calls Finland home, and spends his season chasing esox across much of western Europe. His flies are beautifully proportioned with careful and stunning blends of color. He's incredibly talented. I have to admit that I am envious of both the flies he ties, and the beautiful fish he catches.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention, The Anglers Net. The Net is maintained by Geoff Shaake and Robin Hill, both of whom were fishing guides in the great state of Alaska. Now Geoff and Robin putt around my neck of the woods. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting either of them, but the issues they address in their blog are sometimes near and dear to my heart.

Then - of course - we have Buster Wants to Fish, Moldy Chum, and The Fiberglass Manifesto. Together, these are generally regarded as the creme de la creme of fly fishing blogs. I must admit they're very nicely done. Each has a wide readership, and together they probably pick up more followers in a month than I have since my blog's inception. Their schwartz is bigger than mine.

Look Into the Mirror

So ... two days ago I hit one of my favorite carp/bass spots. I caught a bunch of fish, including my first mirror carp. What an odd looking fish. Fun though ...

Sadly, when I returned home I made the mistake of leaving my DSLR, video camera, and fishing bag in the car. There they remained throughout the day yesterday, and last night they were stolen. I'm just glad the thieves didn't bother to look in the trunk. They would have found three bamboo rods, and several graphite sticks.

I've lived in this neighborhood most of my life. No one locks the doors of their homes let alone the doors of their cars. I'm sad, disappointed, and furiously angry.

And that leaves only one more thing to say.

If you should look into the mirror, and see a thief looking back at you - a thief with my camera and a picture of the only mirror carp I've ever caught in my life - well ... then ...

In Case of Emergency

Just in case you feel the need to relieve yourself on someone's leg while fishing the salt ... use the old "urine neutralizes the toxin" line. Good fun for all.

Mixed Bag

Little bit of everything today ... a few head shots for ya'll.

Knowing ... In the Biblical Sense

Riddle me this ... the Dalai Lama, the county fair, and fearsome Tyrannosaurus Rex. What have they in common?

Thoughts?

Here's a hint. T-rex is a CARNivore. The fair is a CARNival. The the Dalai Lama claims to be the reinCARNation of thirteen previous Dalai Lamas.


Still aren't following me?

Carnival. Carnivore. Reincarnation. Each word shares the Latin root "Carn," meaning flesh. In a purely linguistic sense, a carnival is a festival of the flesh. A carnivore like T-rex is a devourer of flesh, and the exiled leader of Tibet is reanimated flesh.

To have carnal knowledge of someone or something is to have knowledge of the flesh.

So it goes with men and women. So it goes with trout.

It was Lee Wulff who suggested that a game fish was too valuable to be caught only once. This is almost cliche, but it couldn't be more true. Please consider the following photographs.

The fish in the first photo was caught last year on my favorite stretch of my favorite river. It taped 21" long, took an emerger at the height of the hendrickson hatch, and fought like its life depended upon it - it did not. The fish in the second photo was caught two years ago on my favorite stretch of my favorite river. It taped 20" long, took a dun at the height of the hendrickson hatch, and fought like its life depended upon it - it did not.

Notice the similarities?

The spot patterns are identical. Each fish has a broken gill plate - look just ahead of the pectoral fin. Each fish has some sort of wound or infection on its lower jaw. These photographs - taken one year apart almost to the day - depict the same fish. This animal, which was caught and released several times, survived year to year relatively no worse for wear.

Catch and release works. Catch and release provides anglers with the opportunity to set free a good, solid fish one day, and admire a genuine trophy the next. Catch and release helps to ensure that our children - sons and daughters - will know their fish not for a fleeting moment, but on a first name basis.