The Photo Bin - August 2014

It's fun, once again, to have content for the Photo Bin. The recent run of blog posts here has been picture heavy, but that's what you get when a new camera arrives and an expedition is undertaken. There's been lots to look at, but still a few odds-and-ends have managed to fall to the Bin.

Craig, Montana exists for but a single purpose; to sustain those who fish the Missouri. The main drag is just a of couple blocks long and has three fly shops, a breakfast/sandwich take-out joint, a nice, rustic restaurant, and a lodge house. It would all dry up and blow away but for the river. Behind the lodge house there's a bar and I never caught its name. It's a locals' watering hole, as far as I can tell, for that's all we encountered during our late night incursions. Admitted, we were there well after the out-of-towners, the sports, had retired to their beds.

The tricos come off early, you know.

In the heart of the place, there's Headhunters. It's the smallest of Craig's three fly shops, but it projects a funky vibe and an energy that's infectious. Good people. It also served as my communications central. My friend Jess McGlothlin had clued me in. "Cell service is sketchy but you can get it in spots... sit on the white bench on the porch and you're good to go." Thanks, Jess!

Further north (way further north - British Columbia north), Elk River Guiding Company owner Paul Samycia keeps a healthy fly supply in the truck as we head out to chase some cutthroat and bulls.

And why wouldn't you keep a truck full of flies with waters like these around? My buddy Mac tests Wigwam's shoreline structure amid the splendor of freestone and fir.

The week-and-a-little kicking around British Columbia, Alberta, and Montana was a blast, due in large part to the company of good folk. Left to right: Jay, Chad, Todd, Mac, and Chris. Thanks, boys, for a fine adventure.

Closer to home, the hummingbirds swarmed everywhere. I had a ball trying to capture their kamikaze antics and twittering attacks. I nicked a number of shots that were technically better, but this image speaks to me best of the attitude of these pugnacious little buzzbombs. Aerial warfare.

Finally, on a sad note, we judged our neighborhood's annual sunflower contest on Sunday. The finale (a day in which we, as a group, wander from house to house where we measure every entry and, more importantly, take pause for a bit of "refreshment" at each stop) is normally held in July, when the sunflowers are at their peak. But schedules and weather pushed it late into August and the contestants were worse for the late summer wear. Drooping and pitiful. The flowers were bad too.

Our sunflowers never really got started as I was in charge of the garden during Mary's June/July recuperation from hip surgery (and you know who wears the green thumb around here). Between the bugs, the birds, and the benign neglect, they hadn't a chance.

Rich and Sheila's were also a no-show, but they were more creative in their non-entry.

What is a Photo Bin?

Glacier National Park

If Nikon or Canon (or anyone else, for that matter) could effectively replicate the transformative filter that exists between our eyes and our brains, they’d sweep the photography market.

Glacier National Park was stunning, but the lingering haze from summer fires on Montana's western slopes, as well as in nearby British Columbia, proved too much for the cameras. My mind’s eye was able to discount the obscurity, assimilate and enhance the distant saw-toothed shadows, and knit together an image that told the story of grand expanses, jagged mountains, and the untold millennia of slow glacial craftsmanship. The SLR, however, got lost in the smoke.

So while what came home on the SD cards was terribly disappointing, I'll still offer a handful of shots in the hopes that your eye/brain interface, and your imagination, can cobble together a suitable impression for yourself. Some day I'll return to bluebird skies and unlimited visibility, peel away the filters, and be truly engulfed by Glacier's spectacle.

And on that day, once again, I suspect that the cameras will struggle to keep up.

Directions For Use

Don’t aim directly at him at first. Point the spray about fifteen feet out and three off the ground, between you and the bear, so if he comes he has to come through the cloud.

Having the bear spray on my belt makes me feel badass, but the bravado melts away quickly as Todd gives me tips on how to use it. I know that the chances of pulling the trigger are slim, but the fact that I’m carrying it at all is sobering.

You’ve got seven seconds worth of spray, but don’t blow it all in one blast. Shoot two or three seconds, then pause.

That’s assuming, of course, that I can get the canister off my hip and flip free the safety while ol’e griz is sizing me up. Assuming I can move at all. I idly wonder how bears might react to the smell of freshly soiled shorts, but decide not to ask.

After that first blast, watch the bear, then the cloud. Be ready to adjust for wind or any other atmospheric conditions before spraying again.

So let me get this straight. Strategically position the first blast. Precisely time the duration of each dispersal. Monitor and assess the large, threatening carnivore’s reactions and the meteorological movements of the gaseous deployed deterrent and adjust application in equally measured portions according to these varying factors.

Fuck it. I’m just gonna spray Todd and run like hell.

The Road to Craig

North Fork of the Blackfoot, MT

Note: Look for more upcoming content related to our ten days of wandering around British Columbia, Alberta, and Montana at Hatch Magazine.

Communications Breakdown

“Let’s meet back here at 9:00, just before dark,” Todd shouted over his shoulder as he dropped onto the path at the end of the backcountry bridge and disappeared down Wigwam. Mac and I followed, but turned upstream instead. The sun still sat high overhead so we had plenty of time before rendezvous.

But after a mile or so of fast, skinny riffles with scant holding water, we threw in the towel, found an old wildlife trail perched above the river, and bushwhacked our way back to the bridge. A hot day, by Canadian standards, we dropped the waders and penguined our way around the truck for a while; had a bite, a beer, and a quick nap, then tried to decide what to do next. There were still a few hours before Todd was expected.

“Let’s take Todd's truck and drive down that old service road to the turnout just above the canyon floor,” Mac suggested. “Shouldn’t take more than a half-hour to get there. We can fish that switchback for an hour or so and get back here by 9:00”

Seemed a good idea, but...

“What if Todd comes back early?” I wasn’t quite sure how he’d react to find that we’d left him stranded in the British Columbian outback.

Mac thought a minute, and then smiled. “I know. We can leave a note on the windshield.”

Now I’d heard, and gone along with, some pretty hairbrained ideas over the previous several days, but this took the cake. Really? Leave a note on the windshield?

“That’s the dumbest thing I've ever heard, Mac, and you know it.”

“It’s just gonna blow off when we turn on the wipers to clear the dust as we drive.”

--- o ---

Note: Look for more upcoming content related to our ten days of wandering around British Columbia, Alberta, and Montana at Hatch Magazine. Special thanks to the fine folks of Fernie, BC for their terrific hospitality. We sure had a blast. 

The Warm Waters of Home

There’s a new body-scrubbing puff in my shower this morning. I notice it as I let the warm waters wash away ten days of road dust and it makes me realize, yet again, how little I really need to make me happy. It helps me remember how much I love home.

A silly little shower puff.

Excuse me a moment. There’s some soap in my eye.

It is, of course, more than the puff. It’s the feel of my own bed and the mold of my pillow. It’s the warmth of my wife beside me. It’s the rollicking, goofy joy of the dogs as I come in the doorway. Where have you been? Where have you been? I’m SO happy to see you!

It’s the pile of cool mail that waits on my desk; a friend’s new book, the first honest-to-goodness check for my scribblings, the deed to the ten acres of woodland next door – our additional buffer from the intruding world and an another tether to home.

It’s the garden that needs weeding and the hillside that needs mulch and the driveway that needs stone. It’s the blowdown that needs splitting so that it’s ready for winter burning. It’s the truck that needs its annual cleanup, the redbuds that need replanting, and the chimney that needs work. It’s their needs, I suppose, that I need.

And there are stories to be told. It seems so long since that was true, whatever the reason. But after ten days chasing trout in British Columbia, Alberta, and Montana, I’ve brought home a few. So keep an eye here for the next week or so, as I test my notes and my memory and my photography skills. But don’t worry. Where they fail, as they inevitably do, I’ll just make shit up. It’s more fun that way, anyway.

But not today, so indulge me a bit. For the moment, I’m simply going to stand here and let the warm waters of home wash over me.

And enjoy my new puff.

The Photo Bin - July 2014

This is, perhaps, the calm before the storm. The photos have been thin, the posts thinner. It's been a quiet summer.

But that's about to change. A new camera's arrived and there's some serious fishing just 'round the corner. Each should quicken the pulse and, hopefully, provide the sparks of inspiration that drive what goes on around here.

Ready or not, it's time to get going again.

In the meantime, here's a trio of shots from last week's misty morning on Virginia's Smith. Having your feet in the water and your head in the clouds is hard to beat - even when the browns are tight-lipped. And it's particularly nice when shared with good company, yet with just a few steps you can be alone in the fog once again.

The best of both worlds.

What is a Photo Bin?

Summertime

Summertime, and the livin' is easy

Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high

Oh, your daddy's rich and your ma is good lookin'

So hush little baby, Don't you cry

It’s stuck in my head and has been since Saturday before last. Tommy Edwards, a local bluegrass favorite, put it there as he crooned these languid lyrics to a small gathering of folks relaxing around a small stage and wine bar tucked comfortably in the back woods of Chatham County. Who knew that Gershwin spun so nicely from a Martin acoustic?

How does a song get so firmly affixed into one’s consciousness? It’s been over a week yet I still find myself humming it constantly, singing it in the shower, playing it in my head on an endless loop; open and soft as a gentle roll cast. Maybe the tune caught me in the just right instant, dovetailed perfectly with my sentiment, and was so perfectly timed, so synchronous with my state of mind, that it simply refuses to relinquish that peaceful place in my brain. Whatever the mechanism, I ain't complainin'.

So while this particular summertime has not always been easy, it certainly has had more than its share of moments of quiet contentment. And maybe the fish are jumpin', but I've not been on the water enough of late to tell you for sure. That's soon to change and maybe, just maybe, this blog will liven up a bit. But until it does, be sure to get yourself out into that high cotton and enjoy these lazy summer days while they're still around.

Tell 'em, Tommy.

So hush little baby, Don't you cry

The Photo Bin - April/May/June 2014

The title says it all. Three months. I've been woefully negligent.

Mostly, I've neglected the cameras themselves, which is a shame because I really enjoy tinkering with them. And I've been thinking about the art of photography (not that my work has anything to do with art, mind you) as some of my scribblings have recently been paired with photos by gentlemen whose work I have come to greatly admire; most notably Tosh Brown and Tim Romano. It's an honor (and quite humbling) for this shutter-challenged hack.

But it's not just Tosh and Tim that inspire me. I am lucky be able to refer to a number of unbelievably talented photographers, both professional and enthusiast, as friends; Louis Cahill, Russ Schnitzer, Alex Landeen, Jess McGlothlin, Thomas Harvey, Steven Brutger, Darren Doss, Dave Hosler (and, no doubt, others whom I'm temporarily forgetting - and to whom I apologize to now for the omission). It's an amazing list of creative individuals whose images of our sport fascinate me daily.

In fact, I'm so inspired that I'm considering updating my ten-year-old DSLR. You think that new Sage is expensive? You have no idea. Between fly fishing and photography, it's a good thing that I'm fabulously wealthy.

That made me laugh too.

Anyway, it's back to this belated bin (and back to earth) with a handful of my snapshots, often more talking points than things pleasing to look at. And that's okay because I like to talk too. But then you knew that.

The vast majority of what fell out of the camera these past three months originated on South Padre Island where I spent three frustrating days searching the Laguna Madre for redfish. Luckily, I had a pair of good friends along for the ride - Chris Hunt and Brandon Robinson.

We slew them, as you can plainly see.

Short of that trip, fishing has been slow. Thankfully, there's plenty of other ways to amuse one's self around here. A good example is the F3T tour that wandered through Asheville in April. It's always good to hang out with the Hunter Banks and Southern Culture on the Fly folks up there; especially when it's at the Highlands Brewery...

And I did sneak in a day, late in the striped bass spawning run, on the Roanoke. Launched out of Weldon, the rockfish capital... well, you can see for yourself.

But the most important outing of the lot was the 3rd Annual Live Free Cornhole Tournament, honoring the memory of my step-son and benefiting the Georgia Tech scholarship that we've established in his name. Friends and loved ones from around the country converged for a bit of competition and fun, and more than a few tears, with Freeman constantly in mind.

Not much to show for three whole months. I'll try to do better in keeping the bins full, buoyed by the inspiration of many; photographers, fishing friends, and loved ones alike. Maybe a little of each will rub off on me.

Smile and say cheese.


What is a Photo Bin?