When does the boat leave?
(A world class education from the stern of a canoe)
I wasn’t great at high school physics. I was an excellent calculus student, but I couldn’t apply the math well in physics with all the vectors and trajectories. Nonetheless, I feel like I have a PhD in applied hydrodynamics and mobile ballistics, and nowhere does that become more apparent than when your buddy hands you a canoe paddle and says let’s go jump shoot some ducks.
Continue reading “Hydrodynamics, Mobile Ballistics, and String Theory”
About three months ago, my wife and I flew to Argentina for my brother’s wedding in Buenos Aires and a little R&R in northern Patagonia. The economy was churning, coronavirus was a distant problem in China, and the world was full of hope. Now, the world is a much darker place, each day bringing more death, lost jobs, and human isolation. It’s hard to write about what an amazing experience I had when so many are suffering today, both from the virus itself, and the economic hardship the virus has unleashed. Not only are we in the midst of a novel viral outbreak, we’re also conducting an experiment in social isolation on a scale our species has never seen. This writeup won’t solve any respiratory ailment or bring back a lost job, but perhaps it will feed someone’s lonely soul. It strays far and wide from fly fishing, encapsulating the full range of human bonding I experienced in this beautiful country. I never appreciated how tenuous and fleeting that experience could be, now that we are into our third month of social distancing. It is a reminder of the way the world was, and how it can be again, once we pull together and make it through this pandemic.
Continue reading “Running from ‘rona in Argentina”
Fall’s last face is it’s cruelest, blasting the Chesapeake with more cold air and wind. It’s now that we say goodbye to spending the morning in a long sleeve shirt, bobbing in calm nearshore waters, casting with ease to dock pilings and marsh banks, and letting the silent skiff trolling motor glide the boat upon unsuspecting fish. The ospreys are enjoying their Floridian vacation, the leaves on the trees are mostly gone, ducks and geese are showing up in increasing numbers, and the inshore three- speckled trout, puppy drum, and rockfish, diverge in their availability. The specks are preparing to head for shallow mudflats to spend the winter. I don’t know where the pups go, but I suspect they seek out whatever warm pocket they can find. On the other hand, late fall is the time to rock.
Continue reading “Three Faces of Fall, Part III”
Fall’s second face is its prettiest face. Another cold front triggers the leaves to change. The marsh grass begins to take on a golden hue, drowning out the subtle green undertones, reminding us of the fading warm weather. Ospreys are leaving, replaced by cormorants and ducks. The water can be nippy, especially on a cool morning, and on a mid-October trip to my favorite spot, I wore my Gore-Tex trout waders. I was late for the sunrise, and as I hustled down the beach, a rough seam rubbed my ankle raw. Upon arriving, I discovered that my waders leaked, and my wound was treated with a dousing of salt water. Numerous fish breaking the surface quickly erased any angst I had about the long walk back in my soggy waders.
Continue reading “The Three Faces of Fall – Part II”
After sharing the story of my trophy brown, this post will provide an illustrative recap of our day on the River Test at Bossington Estate.
Continue reading “Bossington Estate Photo Essay”
Frederic Michael Halford. George Edward Mackenzie Skues.
Two fly angling giants of Britain’s Victorian Era. What do they have to do with me?
Continue reading “Back where it all begins”Last year my dad and I had the privilege of filling a vacant spot in the Project Healing Waters Two Fly tournament at the Rose River Farm in Syria, Virginia. Project Healing Waters is a wonderful organization that gets veterans involved in fly fishing as part of the physical and emotional rehabilitation process from being at war. The Two Fly Tournament is a fundraiser where veterans, assisted by professional guides from around the country, compete in a beautiful setting on the Rose River. Continue reading “Quisisana”
I hitched up the skiff and headed west to Richmond yesterday to get out on the James with two old high school buddies. We launched at Ancarrows around 1PM and headed up just below the 95 bridge. I was late in arriving to the ramp, and they had already scouted a spot along the bank where plenty of shad were jumping. The river was high and muddy from a torrential storm last Sunday evening, and we knew we would have to work for the fish in the low visibility. Continue reading “Shad and brown trout on a nice April weekend”
Wednesday, March 14, 2018 marked the passing of fly-fishing legend Lefty Kreh. The Baltimore resident did it all: invented fly patterns (Lefty’s Deceiver), wrote many instructional articles and books, traveled and developed new fisheries, and helped thousands improve their fly casting. His mark on the sport is such that without him, fly fishing would look significantly different today.
I won’t get into a full biography here; there are many well written articles and interviews out there about him which I encourage you to read. I will however describe the indirect way in which he impacted my life. And no, it’s not the fact that probably one out of every three flies in my fly bag is a Deceiver, nor is it the fact that I taught myself to double-haul straight from his book. This anecdote has a longer and more far reaching trajectory than gear or technique, it is a story about the birthplace of my lifelong passion for fishing.
My grandfather, a devoted angler himself, had the good fortune to sit one row in front of Lefty about 30 years ago on a plane. Newly retired and eager to relocate to somewhere he could spend his days on the water, he struck up a conversation with Lefty about his plans. My grandfather had grown up in Richmond and worked for many years in Baltimore, and was very familiar with the Chesapeake Bay. However, in the late 80s, the Bay was experiencing the collapse of its premiere fishery – the striped bass – due to pollution and overfishing. It was so bad that a complete moratorium was introduced in order to revive the stock. Lefty instead suggested the southern North Carolina area, with good inshore fisheries for red drum, trout, and flounder, and excellent nearshore fisheries for king mackerel, grouper, and snapper.
My grandparents spent ten years in Wilmington, North Carolina, overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway and Masonboro Island. My grandfather moved through several boats during his time there, from a small aluminum runabout to a 23’ twin outboard catamaran. Twice a year my family would load up the Land Cruiser and head south to spend a week at my grandparents’ place. Those vacations were an incubator for the 8-year old aspiring angler; I gradually progressed from catching bass in the stocked pond on bloodworms to catching flounder in the shallow sandy inlets on curly-tail jigs. I remember the disappointment at having to stay behind while the adults went offshore. My brother and I would pass time by poking around the mudflats looking for fiddler crabs, and throwing cast nets off the pier for mullet and shrimp, eagerly awaiting the sight of my Grandfather’s catamaran pulling into its slip, fishboxes full of king mackerel and grouper. The sense of accomplishment in my modest catches mixed with the yearning to be able to go on longer trips for bigger fish solidified my love for fishing. I wasn’t a fly angler yet, but the seeds were surely planted. No one can say how my life would’ve turned out if my grandparents had retired to Arizona or Tennessee or some other place where the tides don’t ebb & flow, but I am indebted to Lefty for steering my family to the saltwater.