Moira Update

Mo has been recovering well from her spine injury, despite some scary set backs, one of which required an additional surgical procedure. She soldiers on, as does the rest of the Tidball gang. We have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of friendship and love that have been such an important part of this last week. Heartfelt thanks and gratitude for all of the support and prayers. Moira is an inspiration, a strong, tough-minded combination of grace and grit. Here is a picture of her, full-out in her passion, a sporting pursuit as well. I won't speak for all Grousers, but we are sure lucky to have the spouses we have. Let us not take these things for granted.

























Now, somebody please post some of the good stuff. I am armed with a stout bottle of Scotch (from good Sir Peter), and am in need of a good story to go with it.

Horse for Sale...

...or target practice.

For those of you that don't know, Moira was thrown from this horse Wednesday night and suffered a severe spine injury. She is in surgery today, and I am suspended in the wash of all that was, is, and will be. There have been some touch and go moments, but if the surgery goes well, she'll be walking again before we know it. Appeals to whatever gods or deities you make offerings to are appreciated.

The best cure for scurvy

Sunday morning after the grouser mini-reunion found three of us - two suffering from IPA deficiency, one scurvy free - on Seneca Lake in George's magnificent Penn Yann. Slicing through a slight chop, we trolled lures at depths from 25 to 60 feet. Lightning quick, Keith claimed the first strike for his own and soon landed a 21" lake trout. I bungled the following few, but the population was quite forgiving and we eventually landed five of 13. Even Capn. George, ravaged with manly scurvy, left the tiller once to land a magnificent 24" leviathan. Please visit me in PA Furnace if you'd like to sample trout, smoked per Moira's orders.

Fruity, Fruoffy, and other F word beers

Had a nice reunion of some grousers down at the Cayuga pond the other night... cooked up some home grown burgers and kicked back enjoying the High Life...well...some of us did. ;)

A Guide to Snakes of Whip-Poor-Will Hill

Well, two snakes so far (and one lizard: eastern fence lizard, unphotographed).

I came across this black rat snake, about three-feet long, on an old logging road below the house. The dogs ran over it, twice, and never noticed.

A few weeks ago we found a three-foot timber rattlesnake just up from the driveway. This photo was taken by my brother-in law Chris, who had never seen a rattlesnake in the wild. We came across this one as we were driving back from a nice swim at Trout Pond, the only natural lake in West Virginia. My reaction when we drove up to the snake was to stomp on the brakes and yell, "Everyone, out of the car NOW!!" so we could gather around the snake and appreciate it slithering across the road. Probably not a sound behavior from a evolutionary standpoint.

Salvelinus namaycush

A 10 dollar Cameroon wrapper "Black Opal " cigar
and a + ten pound Lake Trout
on a beautiful July morning on Seneca Lake.
Priceless.

Noz on the Rocks

As I mentioned in an earlier post, Noz loves to climb the rocks in WV. Video evidence presented.

... the shock that overrides

Came across this quote I thought I should share while doing some reading...

"I whisper thanks to the animal, hoping I might be worthy of it, worthy of carrying
on the life it has given, worthy of sharing in the larger life of which the deer and I
are a part. Incompatible emotions clash inside me—elation and remorse, excitement
and sorrow, gratitude and shame. It’s always this way: the sudden encounter with
death, the shock that overrides the cushioning of the intellect. I force away the sadness and remember that death is the spark that keeps life itself aflame (p. 263)."

Nelson, R. (1989). The island within. New York: Random House.

An Evening at the Ponds

Warm Water...good for the soul. Enough of the snooty trout, let's get muddy.

Joined up with Mr Bill's clan for an evening of dog training, burger flipping, and kid fishing.

Hannah has a new 'biggest fish', with an assist going to Ben...not Arkansas class catfish, but hey...

And even McPhee went for a swim.

15 minutes of fame?

Hate to blog right over such an...uhm...inspiring post, but here is a piece that my friend Pat Durkin just wrote for NRA's American Hunter magazine on Heberlein's deer / grouse camp 'Up North' in Wisconsin. Some of you have been there, others may be soon.

You'll notice the genesis of Conley's name. The story of me and the farm girl is true, but by today's standards would probably be rated PG-13.

Jim has assured me that pasting in a screen grab of the first page and then a link to the full article will work:

link to download full article.

If it doesn't...blame him. 'Course he's the one who's gotten me this far.

Excellence in nature reporting

hard to know whether this is for real. Enjoy.

Rain.

Ask me how my "2 dads, 4 kids, 2 wives" fathers day tent camping and trout fishing trip to Kettle Creek (Potter Co, PA) went this weekend. Nary a High Life man in sight, but I enjoyed frying bacon in ankle deep water.

Truck

in honor of Father's Day.



Some of these are just making me laugh out loud.

Fish sticks

Josh, those Miller High Life ads are fantastic. I've just spent the better part of (cough) an hour watching a ton of them. Here's one that I like:



say . . . didn't you just buy a hunting cabin with a cappuccino machine?

Ice Fishing

Wow, two posts in a day for me. A record.

Keith's earlier posting of another in this commercial series enticed me to revisit these classics:

For Your Bogsuckin', Mudbattin' Pleasure

American Woodcock Population Status Report - 2009
with love, from the good folks at USFWS (you know, people like PW).

Red Tide Hits Downeast Maine

Brody ("... from the muddy place") arrived in Bangor yesterday evening on a Northwest flight that originated in Missouri. Geographic location of breeder will weigh more heavily on pup choice next time around -- shipping a verb can be expensive! Things have changed since I paid $25 for Butch puppy's flight from Detroit (but he did share the crate with his sister).

So far, so good. Eight weeks old, first of his clan to hit the highway. Seems like a bright little devil. No accidents on the floor, didn't cry the whole night, pretty mellow (so far), and the bride and boys love him.

Pointing golden retriever? Well, officially he's a red setter (http://www.nrsftc.com/), owing to an injection of English into the Irish ancestry in the 1950s.
His dad's a field trial stud from Kansas (http://pinehollowkennel.nrsftc.com/), mom is a hunting dog from MO. He should be about 50-55 lbs (Spy's 53); he's got bits of white on the toes of his rear feet and specks of white on his armpits and chest. He'll be at rookie camp this fall. Hard to tell just yet if Spy's nose is out of joint.

Crashing the Hatch

Penns Creek, PA at Green Drake time. Hallowed ground. Maybe the Hendricksons on the Upper Delaware come close, but this really is the holy grail of eastern flyfishing. Approach on your knees with the proper reverence.

Serious guys taking themselves seriously, reminding me of the great line from Greg Brown..."looking like everything just kinda stuck to 'em the last time they walked through ol' LL Bean..." Hushed latin whisperings overheard..."ephemerella grandis...quid pro quo...sic semper tyrannis..."

And then there was us. Four or five dads, a mom or two, and five kids rampaging through the woods at the top of their lungs. Falling in, dropping cameras, throwing rocks, playing tag, occasionally making a cast or two. Random screamings. Real life. Bet the fancy guys hated it, but they probably needed it too. I know I did.

another new bird dog

all this talk of bird dog puppies has made me nostalgic . . . . Some of you grousers have been around long enough to know that the first bird dog I hunted over was our Boston terrier Lucy, and I killed one of my first-ever grouse at Connecticut Hill with Lucy's help sometime in the early 90s.

well boys and girls we're back in the Boston terrier business at Chez Tantarlow--meet Henry, named after another famous transcendentalist Bostonian who will remained unnamed.

Henry belongs to my daughter Sophia, who saved up her own money for quite some time to get him.

Don't know how he'll be on grouse, though.