It’s that time of year, up at my trout camp, when the first big bugs of the season hatch. During the day. These bugs, Green Drakes, entice big trout to rise, sometimes with abandon. The challenge, though, is the water they hatch from is crystal clear and low, and though a trout’s brain is tiny, the water clarity right now intensifies the challenge to entice the trout to your fly, even if the trout at times rise with abandon.
I do my best to recite a favorite reminder of God’s graciousness each morning immediately after waking. Psalm 118:24 –
This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.
Now, I will not pretend that this is always easy to accomplish on a day to day basis, but I do think attempting to put one’s mind into the frame of thought suggested by that verse can positively affect one’s day.
Below, are a couple of photos of a spot I like to sit and watch for rising trout on our little trout camp crick. Though the waters may look shallow in the clarity of the bright sunlight, their depths can be deceiving. And the dark shadows along the undercut banks can hold big trout.
Late last Fall, after a month’s absence from trout camp, my brother and I ventured up to tarp off our trailer rigs for the winter. As we usually do, we walked the property to check for sign, and naturally wandered the bank of the creek to see if we could see any trout, or their redds from the spawn. We didn’t see any trout, but we did see a few redds, and much to our surprise and consternation, we found that the beavers had built a bank lodge under the dead spruce on the bank.
The spruce has seen its share nature’s furies, losing its top fifteen or so years ago in a huge storm, and acquiring a lean of Tower of Pisa angles. It survived its decapitation, sprouting four competing growths for domination of the crown, but then started to fail. I don’t know if its decapitation contributed to its slow death, or its root ball’s loss of grip to the ground, but it’s definitely dead.
Our consternation with this Dead Spruce Lodge of the beavers’ results from beavers 20 or so years ago taking down almost every poplar on our trout camp property, so we had them trapped out. I tried to find a woodsman to trap these new beaver residents out, but because there is no money in trapping beavers, and overall lack of interest in trapping beavers simply as a past time, the beavers wintered over and have been having their way with poplars, young cherry tree saplings, and other small trees up and down the crick. Their sign is every where I venture.
Dead Spruce Lodge’s inhabitants are a mother, father and one kit, and I have had a number of encounters with them already this trout season. I’ve been cannonballed by both the mom and the dad beaver, and even the kit has done his best impression of a large beaver’s cannonball at me while I stood in the creek fishing. I’ve also watched one of the large beavers swimming underwater downstream while I was fishing a run. It looked like a big brown blimp flying underwater.
I guess Dead Spruce Lodge will be occupied for some time, or until the dead spruce keels over and into the crick, which will present us with a whole nother problem. There is one positive aspect, though, of the Dead Spruce Lodge. It’s also a great hide for big trout. A regular trout hotel.
84 have been arrested for drunk driving in the last year.
So, out of 435 members of congress, 380 of them, which is 87 percent of them, are mere criminals, scumbags, or both, and if one votes, well, these are the people you voted for, and allegedly represent you.
Via a post at Daily Pundit titled Mind Blower. Post is a 56 second video.
Tandler tweets out a litany of San Francisco ills, bemoans the loss of manly men, ponders if vigilantism should become a thing in San Francisco once again, and more. But it is the final words of Michelle Tandler’s final tweet in the thread which makes me question whether she actually is living in reality, regardless of her Linkedin profile, or is simply an addled individual who is living in a fantasy world.
“I’m going to ask ChatGPT.”
Seriously, Michelle Tandler? You’re going to ask ChatGPT for advice on what you should do in regards to the problems you’re having in a major city which in actuality is the center for grifting in the State of California and turns a blind eye to criminality and rampant drug use on the street? Does she not understand that ChatGPT is simply a regurgitator/plagiarist of previously written words programmed by human hands to sift away actual solutions and further instill stupidity into the general population? If you’re going to ask ChatGPT for advice, Michelle Tandler, you may as well attempt to program a street cleaner sized Roomba to clean up all the needles and feces off the streets of San Francisco.
Most individuals are somewhat dismayed when bugs begin coming out when Spring’s grip begins to take hold over Winter. Not flyfishers, and as an avid flyfisher I have to admit that seeing the first hatch of black stoneflies on our creek this past week was a celebratory moment. I only noted about a half-dozen of them hatching, beginning about 3 p.m. in the afternoon, and on only one afternoon out of seven, but I was so pleased to take note of this that I sat at the creek’s edge for almost 2 hours simply noting where they emerged from, and hoping to possibly see a trout rise to take one as a meal.
While I did not get to see a trout rise to take a black stonefly, I did note a few trout moving in the creek to feed, though rather lethargically because Winter’s grip remains rather firm on northern Michigan waters.
“Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar. Let me pry loose old walls. Let me lift and loosen old foundations.”
“Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike. Drive me into the girders that hold a skyscraper together. Take red-hot rivets and fasten me into the central girders. Let me be the great nail holding a skyscraper through blue nights into white stars”