Got onto the water Thursday and saw numerous risers--took me a while to figure out what they wanted, but once I got the BH soft hackle white fly, I took 7 or 8 rainbows and browns up to 14". Mostly missed the evening white fly emergence, which started earlier than I'd expected--probably on account of the cool weather. In camp that night, the fire was not just about atmospherics.
Friday was slower--managed five trout, including one 15" brown, in the afternoon, all on olive emergers, but rain drove me from the river in the evening.
Camping at the Loop was an unsettling experience, as usual. Details to follow.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
He Stopped Purring Today
Apologies to George Jones for the title of this, but it's as apt a phrase as I can think of to sum up the death and life of my cat, Pavlov. He was as affectionate a cat as I've ever seen, and sometimes I thought he spent his entire waking life purring. Not so much over the last week when he rarely left the couch, and a cyst that had grown on his side since last winter began to abscess. But we squeezed one more out of him as we held him in the vet's office this morning before we gave him the shot. About an hour ago we buried him between the pines in our backyard, wrapped up with a small St. Francis icon and a sprig of catnip to make the journey pleasant. He was 19.
I won't give a protracted elegy here, and I won't rehearse the difficulty of making the decision, which we actually went to the vet's this morning not assuming we'd have to make, even though I knew it was a possibility. It was awful to have to decide, but unquestionably the right thing. He'd been declining for months, and had almost nothing left to give. He could hardly walk from the couch to his food bowl without stumbling, though he often made the attempt, as his appetite remained excellent right to the end.
It is a sad day, though given his age and his relatively good health until the last, not a tragic one.
I really couldn't ask for more from a pet, though Pavlov had his faults, among them that he photographed poorly. His gray/black coloration didn't show up well against most backdrops, at least not with the lighting in our house. I had trouble choosing among at least slightly disappointing likenesses of him for this memorial post. Ultimately I chose this one, taken just a couple of weeks ago, when for once he seemed to be lit up well. We took almost thirty pictures of him that day, most of which we snapped just as he was moving. So they're generally blurry, or have a little glare, but this I thought was one of the best, taken on one of the last days he was at his.
Farewell, Pavlov (AKA the Pea, the Peanut). Thanks for 17 fine years.
I won't give a protracted elegy here, and I won't rehearse the difficulty of making the decision, which we actually went to the vet's this morning not assuming we'd have to make, even though I knew it was a possibility. It was awful to have to decide, but unquestionably the right thing. He'd been declining for months, and had almost nothing left to give. He could hardly walk from the couch to his food bowl without stumbling, though he often made the attempt, as his appetite remained excellent right to the end.
It is a sad day, though given his age and his relatively good health until the last, not a tragic one.
I really couldn't ask for more from a pet, though Pavlov had his faults, among them that he photographed poorly. His gray/black coloration didn't show up well against most backdrops, at least not with the lighting in our house. I had trouble choosing among at least slightly disappointing likenesses of him for this memorial post. Ultimately I chose this one, taken just a couple of weeks ago, when for once he seemed to be lit up well. We took almost thirty pictures of him that day, most of which we snapped just as he was moving. So they're generally blurry, or have a little glare, but this I thought was one of the best, taken on one of the last days he was at his.
Farewell, Pavlov (AKA the Pea, the Peanut). Thanks for 17 fine years.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Paddling East, Fishing West
Had a nice float with Kristine down the south branch and mainstream of the Au Sable. I won't go deeply into detail. We paddled, we saw eagles, deer, an otter; slept on the ground, woke one morning in fog so thick it felt like drizzle; ate out of cans and bags; I watched in agony Thursday night and Friday morning as rainbows rose to BWOs for hours on end in the waters below Mio.
We took few pictures on this trip--certainly not enough to offer anything like a photonarrative of the trip. Since I had the camera most of the time, the quality may not be what it could have been. But here are a couple of random shots that came out OK.
The Mason Chapel, on the south branch
Our last night's camp, at Meadow Springs
I started missing the trip as soon as we hauled out. I've been online-window-shopping for canoes since we got home.
Quite the mind-wipe it was. I didn't give much thought to work or other routine concerns, except to note a couple of times the fact that I wasn't thinking of them. Returning to reality is much harder than letting it go--I almost began that with "unfortunately," but I'm not sure about that.
After the float was over and the livery hauled us back to our car in Roscommon, we headed up the road to Grayling to recover with a motel room for the night and the obligatory dinner at Spike's. In the morning, I snuck out to fish the Manistee, giving the Au Sable a break because I'd never tried the Big M before in trico season. A fair hatch came off around 9, and I took 5 legal or better browns, plus some dinky ones. Fish were active in a few locations, but completely absent from long stretches of water. Nothing worth opening the champers over, but a pleasant wrap to the trip.
A busy week ahead, with preparations for classes. I may or may not blog
We took few pictures on this trip--certainly not enough to offer anything like a photonarrative of the trip. Since I had the camera most of the time, the quality may not be what it could have been. But here are a couple of random shots that came out OK.
The Mason Chapel, on the south branch
Our last night's camp, at Meadow Springs
I started missing the trip as soon as we hauled out. I've been online-window-shopping for canoes since we got home.
Quite the mind-wipe it was. I didn't give much thought to work or other routine concerns, except to note a couple of times the fact that I wasn't thinking of them. Returning to reality is much harder than letting it go--I almost began that with "unfortunately," but I'm not sure about that.
After the float was over and the livery hauled us back to our car in Roscommon, we headed up the road to Grayling to recover with a motel room for the night and the obligatory dinner at Spike's. In the morning, I snuck out to fish the Manistee, giving the Au Sable a break because I'd never tried the Big M before in trico season. A fair hatch came off around 9, and I took 5 legal or better browns, plus some dinky ones. Fish were active in a few locations, but completely absent from long stretches of water. Nothing worth opening the champers over, but a pleasant wrap to the trip.
A busy week ahead, with preparations for classes. I may or may not blog
Monday, August 10, 2009
Floating...
We'll be floating the S. and Main branches of the Au Sable over the next few days. Field reports while there, a writeup when we get home. Hopefully I'll get to toss a line at some point.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Back Up...
Had to go incognito for a few days...but enough on that. I'm back.
Been having some decent fishing on the Huron as of late. Last Tuesday I tried a new locale below Delhi Metropark, but I arrived there to find most of the choice looking spots already occupied--conditions for the hex/ephoron hatches on the Huron are starting to resemble those of the hex hatch on the Au Sable. I was forced to set up on a wide, flat stretch that ranged from ankle to shin deep and all but resigned myself to a night of catching 4" rock bass. The hex hatch once again was only fair, but a nice emergence of ephorons took place and fish were soon working all over the flat. At first the fish seemed to mostly ignore my flies, but about ten minutes into the hatch they started paying attention in over the next half hour or so I caught 8 smallmouth ranging 11-16.5".
I had a long upstream wade back to the access point (and a further hike to the car), but I didn't mind. The night was pleasant, the river bottom mostly free of obstacles, and the full moon was high. I spooked a couple of large fish along the bank, nearly tripping myself when I spun around to verify that the eruption by my right kneecap wasn't some attacking mad beaver. All kinds of odd fears attach to unrests in the dark.
Wading down, I'd had the impression I was in a wooded, undeveloped stretch of river, but on the return trip in the dark I could see lights, behind a latticing of branches, lining top of the hill overlooking the west bank. Houses. Not a bad spot to live, I thought.
The place where I'd gotten in the river was connected by an impromptu, unmaintained trail, beaten down through the tall grass by fishermen, to the designated trail back to the parking area for the nature preserve. My flashlight starting to fail, I veered off of the rough trail a couple of times, and I when I did make the maintained trail, I took a wrong turn and followed the trail to dead end at the boundary of private property. If worse came to worst, I thought, I could just walk along the property boundary to the hilltop, hoping the homeowners weren't armed and anxious. But I made my way back to the right trail in short order, and my jaundiced flashlight (seriously---I had 3 feet of visibility, max) held out long enough to take me to my car.
Without the missteps, I'd have been back at least 20 minutes earlier. On a night like that, though, I saw the delay as a pleasant extension of the outing.
Been having some decent fishing on the Huron as of late. Last Tuesday I tried a new locale below Delhi Metropark, but I arrived there to find most of the choice looking spots already occupied--conditions for the hex/ephoron hatches on the Huron are starting to resemble those of the hex hatch on the Au Sable. I was forced to set up on a wide, flat stretch that ranged from ankle to shin deep and all but resigned myself to a night of catching 4" rock bass. The hex hatch once again was only fair, but a nice emergence of ephorons took place and fish were soon working all over the flat. At first the fish seemed to mostly ignore my flies, but about ten minutes into the hatch they started paying attention in over the next half hour or so I caught 8 smallmouth ranging 11-16.5".
I had a long upstream wade back to the access point (and a further hike to the car), but I didn't mind. The night was pleasant, the river bottom mostly free of obstacles, and the full moon was high. I spooked a couple of large fish along the bank, nearly tripping myself when I spun around to verify that the eruption by my right kneecap wasn't some attacking mad beaver. All kinds of odd fears attach to unrests in the dark.
Wading down, I'd had the impression I was in a wooded, undeveloped stretch of river, but on the return trip in the dark I could see lights, behind a latticing of branches, lining top of the hill overlooking the west bank. Houses. Not a bad spot to live, I thought.
The place where I'd gotten in the river was connected by an impromptu, unmaintained trail, beaten down through the tall grass by fishermen, to the designated trail back to the parking area for the nature preserve. My flashlight starting to fail, I veered off of the rough trail a couple of times, and I when I did make the maintained trail, I took a wrong turn and followed the trail to dead end at the boundary of private property. If worse came to worst, I thought, I could just walk along the property boundary to the hilltop, hoping the homeowners weren't armed and anxious. But I made my way back to the right trail in short order, and my jaundiced flashlight (seriously---I had 3 feet of visibility, max) held out long enough to take me to my car.
Without the missteps, I'd have been back at least 20 minutes earlier. On a night like that, though, I saw the delay as a pleasant extension of the outing.
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