The Bitter End

things to remember outdoors

I had backed my bonefish skiff down the boat ramp into the water, when a rival of mine for the attentions of the lady who was with me that morning, showed up driving his new pickup.  While I busied myself loading the boat, the lady went to say hello.  

I saw him smile and hand her something crumpled in his hand.  She had told me that he was much too young for her, full of himself.  I could see he had that cute, curly-headed bad-boy way about him.  He hollered over to me, “Hey, Dude, nice boat.”  He gestured towards the boat.  I looked at the boat at the dock and realized that from where he was, in his truck at the top of the boat ramp, he was watching my boat filling with water.  I had LEFT THE PLUG OUT!

Weight Walkers

don't expect much 

I frequently take an early morning bike ride for fun, sharing St. Pete’s beautiful waterfront city paths with dog walkers, joggers, other bikers, fishermen and castnetters, bird watchers, a few serious workout types doing pullups and burpees, and classes on the grass for groups of women led by fitness “experts” with stretch bands and complex poses to mimic.  Others walk along moving their arms in strange ways, as though simply walking is not enough and they know it.  

Another woman in her sixties, only thirty pounds overweight, practices race walking, not realizing how silly she looks there on the path.  One fine looking woman can sometimes be seen sproinging along on on special shoes with springs in them, which shows off her fit body perfectly.  Anyone sproinging knows they’re making an impression.  It’s a fun human parade, most of it.

Filbert and the Vet Visit

love and responsibility

I love my dog.  Next to my wife and my three sons, I love him best.  He's a wiener dog.  I wag when he wags and feel bad when he huffs his food and has an empty bowl.  I scratch him and rub on him when I can, and tolerate him in the bed with me, up against my side when I read.  He's what's meant by the word, companion, and he adds joy to our lives.  What more can you ask?  I could list what he's lacking, but he wasn't acquired to be a guard dog or a duck retriever or sheep herder.  If you saw him you'd be amused.  Good boy!

Going Fishing: Unforeseen Dangers

Saturday morning I got up early, dressed, made my lunch and slipped out. I opened the garage and hooked up the boat trailer, quietly as I could. 

A strong wind was blowing rain. The radio said it was going to continue all day, so I went back in the house, quietly undressed and slid back in bed, cuddling up behind my wife’s back in anticipation of some fun.  

I whispered, “The weather’s terrible,” to which my wife of five years responded, backing up to me enthusiastically, “And can you believe my stupid husband left me again to go fishing?”

Guantanamo Food Strike

Associated Press headline:  “Guantanamo hunger strike largely over.  The U.S. military on Monday effectively pronounced the end of a mass hunger strike.”

It was a “six month protest that refocused global attention on the prison and pushed the Obama administration to revive the effort to shutter Guantanamo.”  

It goes on to say that “about seven detainees have been on strike for years.”  They must have taken turns striking, or they’d have died within a few months back in year one. 

How Bright Was It Shining?

It’s raining here in St. Pete, a wonderful Florida down pour, probably too much for my herbs and legumes-- whatever those are-- but it sounds and looks wonderful hitting the bamboo outside my window.  I think I’ll take a walk in it.  Gotta find my rain jacket, then head out.  Maybe the sun will peek through the clouds, shining like a dime in a goat’s ass, as a friend once said of a coke freak’s eyes.

Pine Beetles and the Fires of Hell A’coming

Now that the floods in Colorado have subsided, it’s time to refocus on the pine beetle infestation in the West.  There's going to be a fire of unprecedented proportions any day now.  It's inevitable, yet you seldom read or hear about it.  A massive stockpile of fossil fuels--dead pine trees-- an immense quantity beyond normal imagination, is standing ready for a match or a lightning bolt.

A few years ago when we lived in Livermore, Colorado, up in the rocks 45 minutes northwest of Fort Collins, we were surrounded by lodgepole and ponderosa pines and Douglas Firs.  To a flatlander from Florida it was very dramatic and beautiful, with valleys and hillsides covered in green year ‘round, straw underfoot.  Fresh snow in the pines, Stellar’s Jays--the most amazing blues on those birds--herds of Mule Deer, a Mountain Lion at our back door, coyotes at night, a bear-chewed beer cooler and fishing the rivers in our drift boat, those memories of Colorado jump to mind.  

Keep Your Hands Off MY Kid's Fly

an early warning

(This was written years before Jerry Sandusky dropped the soap.)

The photograph in the newspaper gave me the creeps.  It featured a lad around nine years old holding up a fly rod and reel to show the photographer his grip, which was incorrect.  He couldn’t cast a fly past his shadow with that grip.  The kid looked bored and like he was about to cry at the same time.  Chances are that the fly was caught on a bush again and he was waiting for help.  In the background a man wearing a fishing vest had his hand on top of another boy’s hand holding a rod, demonstrating the right motions.  You could see the edge of a pond and knew the idea was to cast a fly out there and bring in a tasty trout after it pulled and bit and did a trouty sommersault or two.

Anchor Dragging

I prefer to wade when I’m fly fishing if water depth and bottom conditions permit.  Casting’s more fun if you’re wading, and it’s sneakier.

If the water’s above waist deep or the bottom’s muddy, I stay in the boat.  I’m still spry enough to climb back aboard my 16’ skiff when I’m finished wading, but for certain pals of mine who are overly stout, have bad backs or tire easily from wading, I carry a folding 6’ aluminum step ladder to make it easier for them to climb back aboard.  

Boatshow!

A choice kayak

A pre-show newspaper quote from the sales mangler at MarineMax says it all:  “Boating is a lot of fun.”

Captain David asks: 

Q:  What percentage of kayak fishermen have owned powerboats?  A:  Very high.

Q:  How much depreciation can I expect on my new outboard powerboat?  A:  25% the day you buy it, 10% per year on the remaining balance each year for five years.  That’s if it’s in excellent condition, never been bottom-painted, runs like a dream.  

HUMOR: The Hairdresser

An older woman goes to her know-it-all hairdresser, says, “Oh, I’m so excited. I need a perfect hairdo.  We just learned that we’re going to be able to visit with the Pope in Rome in a few days, and I’m going to get airline reservations this afternoon for London, and I’m going to see if we can stay at the Ritz Hotel.  It’s all so wonderful!”

Climate Change?

not so fast

I heard an “expert” on the radio this morning talking about rising water in southeast Florida threatening coastal buildings.  All about climate change, not one word about common, old-fashioned beach erosion.  

The ocean does what it wants with beaches, makes entirely new inlets, washes whole island civilizations away overnight.  It is not worried about the sand in front of condos.  The ocean has a whimsical personality.  Ask oceanfront homeowners in New Jersey about rising water.  I can walk you to where the old inlet was in Fort Pierce, and I watched a new one form in Wilmington, N.C.  As an old fisherman told me at the fish house one day, “Harricans does it.”

JOKE: Cockney Outdoors Story

Practice and a good accent help this one.

Finally, late on a cold night in a scruffy London pub, Ira talks a wee lass into going outside with him for a little fun.  They put on their jackets and outside they go.  In a minute Ira’s got her skirt up, just a’goin’ to it, pokin’ her good.  He’s doin’ fine, then he hesitates and asks her, “I say, miss, why is yer head noddin’ up and down like that?”  “Oh, oh, Ira” she says breathlessly, “you’ve got a wee bit of me scarf tucked in.”

Cooking Doves

choosing what to fry

Once at a dove hunt I was pan frying dove breasts for around twenty shooters.  I’d gotten my limit early and retired to drink scotch and smoke reefer and cook and shoot the shit with my hunting pals as they came in from the field to drink, eat and clean their birds. (Before I quit drinking and smoking dope in 1983.)

Miracle Mile

ridiculous fishing

Maybe you saw the article a few years ago in a leading fly fishing magazine about fishing with flies without hooks.  You tied the fly, then clipped off the offending barbed portion.  A Vegan, Liberal sort of approach, the idea was to observe when a trout or whitefish “took.”  You were expected to see and feel the strike, then be happy.  No lip pulling, scaring the fish.  Certainly no flour, butter, lemon and capers.  For the first time fly fishermen could report "takes," not empty creels, which was appealing to the writer, who I suspect had come home empty-handed one too many times.

The Bartow Depth Finder

It's your turn.  Jump in!

My hunting and fishing buddies enjoy putting snakes in sleeping bags, hiding the toilet paper and making you fishing bait sandwiches when you get seasick. Rotten bait sardines slapped between slices of plain white bread are good or longer baits, like ballyhoo or mullet, which extend out past the bread. It’s a rough crowd.

The words “Mark Twain” referred to two fathoms, or twelve feet of water under the keel of a Mississippi riverboat. Traditionally, a “leadsman” would drop a weighted line with a knot every six feet, and holler the depth to the captain in the pilothouse. 

Fishing experts today use all sorts of fancy depth-finding equipment, but a Bartow, Florida, redneck out for a day of bream fishing pokes a stick overboard until it touches the ground to see how deep the water is, the stick being his or her fishing pole. It’s basic and foolproof, like the lead line.  Well, almost foolproof.

Inside Competition Angling

a winning attitude

This may be the first written attempt to outline how to compete with another angler in a skiff for a one day Fly Fishing Club tournament. (It is imperative that you fish from your boat, or you’ll lose control immediately, and may as well quit fishing and eat your lunch.) 

If, at any time as you read the following, Gentle Reader, you say to yourself, “Oh, that’s awful!  I could never do that!”, ask yourself if it’s ever been done to you. 

Photo: Florida Mullets

Betsy, dockside looking down

Camping with a Black Lab

dog problems in camp

(Names changed due common courtesy.)

I had plans with Dan, a duck hunting buddy of mine, to tent camp the night before the opening of duck season on a piece of marsh land I’d leased. I had a big airboat, fifty decoys and a Black Labrador named, Bayou.  We’d looked around the day before in the airboat, and found lots of ducks feeding nearby.  We were set.  

Popper Fishing

poppers first, then sinking bugs

Many truly huge fish attack topwater flies with abandon, but none do it more aggressively than a hungry, angry Bluegill no wider than a large man’s hand.

Many widely experienced big fish fly anglers list bluegills among their favorites.  Watching a fish strike a topwater fly is a magical instant of fun, particularly if the fly is attached to a lightweight fly rod and the fly is the size of a bumblebee, like a size 8 popping bug.  

Books are written about flies for bluegills, and techniques for catching them “on top” are a regular topic of discussion and argument among anglers.  Flies that sink take millions of ‘gills, but they aren’t as much fun to fish with, so fly anglers usually cast them only if the fish aren’t hitting poppers.  It’s all in the strike, making the little buggers eat your fly.  

Airboats, Gators and the Dark of Night

the wild way to go in Florida

Airboats are a hoot, but if you own one you’re probably a little nuts.  They can go where no other boat can go, in very shallow water, so miles of otherwise unreachable wilderness are available for duck, hog and deer hunting and fishing around swamps, marshes and the edges of lakes.  If something goes wrong out there it can be you and the gators and skeeters for a long time before help comes.  Florida has lots of such habitat and thousands of crazy people who enjoy airboating.

Wade Fishing Lake Kissimmee

I prefer to wade when I’m fly fishing if water depth and bottom conditions permit.  Casting’s more fun if you’re wading, and it’s sneakier.

If the water’s above waist deep or the bottom’s muddy, I stay in the boat.  I’m still spry enough to climb back aboard my 16’ skiff when I’m finished wading, but for certain pals of mine who are overly stout, have bad backs or tire easily from wading, I carry a folding 6’ aluminum step ladder to make it easier for them to climb back aboard.
 

Shotguns

education and choices

When I was ten years old I spent a few hours one afternoon sky-busting at passing ducks with a .410 shotgun.  They looked close enough to me, but my father told me later he’d sat across the marsh watching me shoot at the ducks, which he said were at least 100 yards up, high in the sky.  No matter.  I was excited, getting familiar with a shotgun, and he was happy to see me enjoying myself, all alone in a duck blind I’d made from palmetto fronds, on the bank of a ditch.  I didn’t cut a feather through two boxes of shells, fifty shots. 

The Fruitjar Bedtime Story

my sons' favorite

One hot summer afternoon I was driving slowly along in my truck, exploring the back roads near my home in southern Florida, and I thought I saw a man rising slowly straight up through the trees.  As I watched, he came down fast.  Then I saw the rope he’d climbed and descended.  I’d seen crazier sights, but I determined to meet the man behind that sort of energy and strength, so I did. We became friends, which is how I got to hear about the fruit jar.

A Fly Fisher Reflects

accidents, fishing clubs and permit fishing 

“Oh, to be a golfer and never hear a rod go ‘snap.'”

Fly rods, unlike golf clubs, are very fragile and subject to attack by paddle fans in motel rooms, car doors and boat hatches.  Fish can snap ‘em too if they’re handled carelessly, like when anglers put too much bend in the rod when there’s a big fish on the line at boat side.  There’s a known term for that called, “high sticking”.  It’s a common error caused by excitement and lack of experience.  Oh, to be a golfer and never hear that loud crunching “snap” as the rod breaks... just before the fish gets away.  

Humor: Fort Pierce Attorneys

Attorney pals, Fort Pierce

Why a Fly Fisherman Returns to Golf

a comparison of the two sports

Most people came to fly fishing after standing on a rubber mat in public trying to strike a golf ball with a club.  Golf failed to hold their interest, probably because it was peaceful seeing the ball trickle away off the tee area after it was struck.  They hit an entire bucket of rental balls with pink stripes, then asked, “What’s next?”

Captain Dave, Colorado State Park Ranger

my worst performance

When I got the call from Chatfield State Park offering me a job as a seasonal Colorado State Park Ranger I’d been looking for work for two years.  I let out a whoop!  I was past desperate, nearly resigned to full-time retirement, though I couldn’t afford it.  I’m 68, in good shape physically, known as a tough old bird.  The pay, $9.75 an hour, was low, but the work was outside in a 5,000 acre State Park.  I’d be another American “under employed,” but so, what!?  I would have a job. 

Buster

A True Story of bestiality

An old story, told of country boys anywhere, goes like this:

A man was caught screwing a sheep, and when he was on the witness stand he was asked how he was able to hold the sheep. 

He said, “Well, judge, what I done was, I pulled this pretty little lamb up to me and put her hind legs in my boots, and jes’ went on.  Don’t hurt ‘em none.  Most times they reaches back and licks my hand.”

The judge leaned forward, smiled and nodded enthusiastically and said, “Yep, they’ll do that.”

Bestiality is not new to American courts.

Uncooked Birds

plucked birders

When a wit from New York City was asked how he enjoyed a recent visit to a friend’s country home, he said, “It was dreadful.  The air was full of uncooked birds."  

For me, birds are a constant source of pleasure. From the Florida Keys to Oregon, there seems to be a never-ending supply of birds I can’t identify without my Peterson, Roger Tory Peterson’s bird book.

The Downside of Upscale Fitness Clubs: yuuch!

No more athletic clubs for me.  I resigned last year from an expensive one in east Denver with all the latest machines and equipment.  I quit, not because of the facility, but because of the members.

For fifty years I’ve belonged to health/fitness/athletic clubs from Key West to Portland, Oregon.

For many years I trained in martial arts and exercised on my own.  I played tennis for a decade and I’ve run more miles than I care to remember.  Always I was a member of some sort of fitness club too. 

I checked out a tony club in St. Petersburg today, but I’m not joining.

Doctor Dave

my early medical education

I’ve been called lots of things over the years.  My three favorites are, Doctor, Sensei and Captain.  I’ve got a black belt in jiujitsu, so students once called me Sensei, or Master.  My Captain’s license is called an Ocean Operator’s Permit, which came in handy when I owned marinas in the 1970s.  It’s fancier than a normal fishing guide’s license, and I often answered to “Captain.”  But it really does me good to be greeted by old friends as “Doctor Dave.”  They know the real story of my medical background.