Snowed In

I’m supposed to be standing in a Smokey Mountain creek right now, a fly rod in my hand. Instead, I’m sitting here at home, gazing out of my window at a winter landscape, held at bay by snow-obscured, icy roadways. It’s Mother Nature's latest, and most desperate, effort to disrupt my fishing plans. I should be disappointed, but I'm really very happy to be home.

I Walked Slowly Today

I walked slowly today. It was hard.

Today was errands day in town and I had a lot of places to go. The post office, the recycle center, the Food Lion, the hardware store, the co-operative marketplace. For some reason, I don’t know why, I parked in the far reaches of each lot and strolled slowly everywhere I went. Years of habitual hurrying have programmed me otherwise, hustling and bustling to make a living, but today I focused on every step, felt the strike of each heel and each push of my toes. I languished in each stride and kept my breath deep and slow to match my snail’s pace. I walked as if I had all day. Luckily, I did.

The Silence of a Solitary Fly Fisherman

Silence. Crisp, wintery silence. No, not exactly silence. Something better. Silence gently wrapped around the soothing white noise of an icy, tumbling mountain stream. Silence overlaid by the soft swish of a fly rod, the hushed whisper of line sliding through guides, the occasional rasp of a reel feeding the ever-hungry cast. Silence attained by the crunch of boots in a blanket of snow and the sound of misty breath in cold air. Silence filled with subtle sound. Silence, then, not for the ears, but for the soul.

The silence of a solitary fly fisherman.

The Plunge

I swear, it's a complete coincidence that the annual New Years Day Redbud Polar Plunge began the year that we moved into the neighborhood. Yes, I may have been hanging around the tap at Rich's 60th birthday party, some three years ago, when the idea came bubbling up from the bottom of the keg, but, though the details of that evening still remain a bit murky, I'm certain that I wouldn't have encouraged such insanity in any way. But however it started, at noon today we stood ready to hit the water to start another year.

But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Our New Years activities really begin the evening before with The Crawl.

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.