Northeast
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Wheel to the Storm and Fly
Monday, August 23rd, 2010
Bo Ni To
Sunday, August 22nd, 2010
They came to run the bar and eat sand eels and we threw things that to them must have looked like sand eels so they ate them and later probably regretted it.
Vineyard Lines
Friday, August 20th, 2010
Bass that ate.
Crocs At Dawn
Thursday, August 19th, 2010
The guy wearing them is a good dude, so his poor choices in footwear will be abided.
Horseshoes, Hand Grenades, Bluefish
Wednesday, August 18th, 2010
I get it: The idea is to keep pushing yourself, to find the bigger challenge, to cast to a fish that tests all of your abilities, or resides just beyond them, and hopefully get rewarded.
But sometimes it’s not such a bad thing to hit up a fish where your cast just has to be good enough and when it sees your fly, actually wants to eat.
We’re Putting on the Foil, Coach
Sunday, August 15th, 2010
Getting geared up, changing out the old backing, we got a big week ahead. That’s right, get out there and stick ‘em.
What We Do Is Secret
Thursday, August 5th, 2010
Today I met Bukowski. Or maybe it was Jim Harrison. Or maybe just someone else with all the manic cravings but none of the talent. He had a brown paper bag and he sat on the park bench without his shirt. He held open a leather-bound writing journal.
The water turned green over the past few days and the only way to see anything was by their tails. The thermometer hit 96 degrees and I stood on dried mud staring at glimpses of fish I knew I would not catch.
I walked by his bench and he tipped his bag at me. He could just be askew or maybe he was acknowledging a parallel situation, or the fact that any passerby would quicken their step to get past either one of us.
I could get out of this. A quick drive home and I’m back in regiment. I doubt he had any means of breaking down his frustrations into four pieces and locking them in a PVC tube under the hatchback.
Suburban Waterfowl Hierarchies, Carp
Wednesday, July 21st, 2010
The swans kick the crap out of the geese, the geese beat on each other, and everyone pretty much leaves the ducks alone.
The swans at the one pond had four cygnets in the spring but two of them disappeared. The raccoons got to them, according to a third party observer.
Unless you count creek chub, the carp are the only game fish in the ponds and the one creek. Every few days two old European guys, I believe they are Hungarian, set up long carp rods, rest them on stands, sit in lawn chairs and smoke hand-rolled cigarettes.
The carp seem to do what they want to do when they want to do it and when they just loaf around it’s a long day for the Hungarians and me, too, and the bird watching is a pretty cool diversion.
Benefitting From Geological Events
Tuesday, July 20th, 2010
Long Island’s north shore formed in the retreat of the Wisconsin ice sheet during the last glacial period. The boulders left behind sometimes expose their tops in the falling tide. Geologists call them glacial erratics but Pete the dockmaster called the bigger ones elephants.
Either way as long as you don’t trip and bust your shins or shear off an outboard skeg it’s a hell of a playground and why is it only people from Maryland call them rockfish?
Do You See the Tailing Carp?
Friday, July 16th, 2010
How about now?
Pete McDonald