Have a Very Woolly Christmas

During this most blessed of seasons,
may your travels be safe, may your heart be light,
and may the stream of your life be filled with fat and happy trout.

Merry Christmas

Wilson Creek Redux

It was the biggest fly rod I have ever seen. A huge two-handed spey, eleven feet long, if it was an inch. Do they make 20wts? It made my 4wt look like a toothpick. Heck, it made my trusty ¾” wading staff look like a toothpick!!! The rod could have kicked a tuna’s ass and there it was in the hands of a large, white haired, bearded gentleman, standing in the middle of Wilson Creek; a creek so small that in most places, if he stood mid-stream, he could easily touch both shores with the plank. All I could think to say was “That’s quite a stick you've got there”.

'Twas the Week Before Christmas

'Twas the week before Christmas and down on the Haw
Not a fish was arisin', the weather was raw.
The water was frigid and brisk was the air,
Too chilly for fishing, but I didn’t care.

The largemouth were nestled down deep in their pools
While bluegill and sunfish were nobody’s fools.
And I in my waders and old fishing cap,
As usual, just couldn’t cast worth a crap.

Light a Candle

I'd trade all my fishing tomorrows
for one single fishing yesterday.*
If the Ghost of Christmas Past was to appear and grant me a single step back in time and place, I might very well return to the day pictured above, sometime in the summer of 1982, on a quiet North Carolina farm pond, to re-live a delightful afternoon chasing bluegill with my father and my two sons, Greg and Andy. This particular image is dear to me as the two patient anglers, my dad, Andy, and my youngest son, also Andy, are no longer with us. Each was taken away long before their time and I miss them dearly. You often don't know how precious a day can be until it's gone so, if I could return to this one, I'd savor every second.

This picture returns to my consciousness regularly, but particularly this week as Sunday, the 13th, is the Compassionate Friends Worldwide Candle Lighting, an evening in which we place a candle in the window in remembrance of the children that have been lost to us.

2009 MGF Gear of the Year

It’s time for the eagerly awaited and highly influential first annual Mike’s Gone Fishin’ New Gear of the Year Award. Yeah, it probably seems a bit premature for year-end acknowledgements, but this year's nominations have been closed early because it has been strongly suggested that I purchase nothing else until after Christmas. It’s very likely that I have bollixed up enough gift ideas already.

This year the competition for New Gear of the Year has been tough as I have come a long way in filling out my fly fishing arsenal. New rods, reels, and accouterments galore have found their way into the closet (you have, no doubt, read about a few of them here) and all have made fishing this year a blast. So, drum roll please.

2009's MGF New Gear of the Year winners are...

Giving Thanks

I am thankful for crisp autumn afternoons spent throwing crankbaits to scrappy chain pickerel.

I am thankful that I eat, and drink, this much but once a year and that I have the good fortune to be able to do so.

I am thankful for the companionship of dogs and the company of folks who love them enough to make them an integral part of their lives.

Wilson Creek Trout

I'd had it up to here with Frau Nature. I've been trying for weeks to get in a trip to the hills to chase some trout and every time a plan got close to execution she'd rain on my parade. Monday was the last straw as the Geezer and I resigned to the postponement of the next day's trip to the North Fork of the New because of high, muddy conditions.

Pushed over the edge, I made a call to Bo Cash, owner and proprietor of the Table Rock Angler, a small shop tucked in the hills above Morganton, to see what conditions were like in the Wilson Creek area. While he hadn't been on the water for a few days, Bo said he did have a couple of clients hitting the creek that day and, if I'd call back after dinner, he'd have the lowdown.

Explaining Yet ANOTHER... Oh, You Know

It's not my fault this time. I swear. Blame Frank. He did it. He GAVE me the rod. It's my third new fly rod in the past four months, but this time it's bamboo.

The fly fishing seeds were planted years ago in my backpacking days when I liked nothing more than hiking along a beautiful mountain stream or camping within earshot of the soothing constant gurgle of running water. The desire was further cultivated by my stepsons who had hiked some of those waterways with me, recognized my love of that environment, and gave me my first rod and reel for Christmas; a gift I will be forever grateful for. It was my friend Frank, though, that brought the passion to full bloom.

Little @$$holes

It was a lazy fall afternoon, back in our previous life, and I was comfortably stretched out on the couch, considering a little cat nap, while the neighborhood kids scampered about the manicured lawns of our fancy suburban subdivision. The living room where I reclined looked out onto a sizable back deck where Mary had created a beautiful setting, replete with potted plants of all shapes, sizes, and vibrant colors. As I began to drift off to sleep in this peaceful setting, all hell broke loose.

From the deck there came a crash and, almost immediately, my gentile, diminutive 4'11" wife came flying through the house with murder in her eyes. She blew through the living room and out the back door, waving her arms and screaming at the top of her lungs "Get out of there you little assholes!!!!" Fearing for their lives, a handful of squirrels, interrupted while hiding their winter meals in Mary's potted plants, scattered in all directions.

2009 Drake Flyfishing Video Award Winner

I don't normally borrow content for my blog, but I love this piece of film. The scenery is magnificent, the fishing is incredible, and I laugh every time the door slams. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.