The Blessings of Autumn Continue

After working 8 years to get tenure (takes longer when you do it twice), and finally getting word yesterday, I figured I could come in late (~1030) one morning. So, I packed up my pup, and headed south to Michigan Hollow environs. (We can’t all beat the crap out of Hector all the time, ‘specially with CowPoke Weik and the missus drifting into town). Started off by working downstream of the old beaver dam, having espied some nice alders there last winter.

Mindful of the warm weather and disdainful of fashion, I wore my old Finger Lakes Marathon long sleeved T under the Filson jacket. Andy’s boots completed the ensemble. I suspect he’ll want to claim the shirt too.

The beavers have been busy. It was a hellish nightmare, and I recalled thinking I really ought to have left word with Julie as to where I was heading. I vividly envisioned a Pongee stick puncture or twelve. This was not a lot of fun. Andy, sorry about the new tear in your boots. Nor was it in keeping with my vision of a contemplative stroll, full of reflections of career, place, friends, cycles, and all that romantic rot.

Backtrack to the backside of the old pond, now a series of small ponds surrounded by well-nigh impenetrable puckerbrush: multiflora, autumn olive, etc. But on the margin, there are gorgeous stands of old pine with hazel growing up. These stands drop off to the thick stuff to the East. Wonder of wonders, a bird flushed from one of these pines, left to right, and wonder-of-wonders, I dropped him with a single shot. To be honest, Conley had nothing to do with this: he was off busting through the thick stuff the way he ought to have been. But I whistled him over, gave him the line, and out he came with the bird…a purty brown phase young of the year.

I’d post a picture but Julie has the durned camera to take pictures of our kids in some danged neighborhood Halloween parade. Strange priorities.

Conley’s first NYS grouse. Life is good. Back to work.

Great Shad Fishing Adventure of 2009

Fishing was slow--Lou caught 2 doinky little shad and I caught, as my friend Rob says, "fvck all". A comedy of errors: Fri aft Lou picked me up from the bus from NYC--we rushed back to the motel, got gear ready, and were ready to blast off to the river. Checked boat trailer lights--nothing. The aft fishing degenerated into trying to trouble shoot the trailer: checking wires, connections, etc. Cussin' Pete and Reigel the whole time for the trailer still not working right. Of course, Fri pm at 6 no real place is open, so we got to know the folks at Walmart automotive real well. Jen was kinda cute with her horse tattoo 'n all, and I did get one classic line from her:

"we don't really have any tools here".

Nice.

Finally got the bright idea to find a Lowe's (up in Port Jervis) with a utility trailer parked out back. We plugged in Lou's truck to the trailer. Nothing. A problem with the truck, rather than the trailer. Sorry Pete, sorry Eric.

Choked down a truly crappy dinner at Apple Valley (never again), had a couple of beers and fell asleep exhausted. Next day, by God screw the trailer, we were gonna fish. And we did. And not much happened (see above). Except that the motor wasn't running so well. Seemed to not be getting gas, and some disturbing white smoke. Middle of the day, Lou cut out to go to the NAPA store to get a new relay converter box for his lights. We fished until dark with one small shad that barely fought.

Back to the hotel with a pizza. Let's work on replacing the relay box. Yeah right.
His wiring system had 5 wires, this box had 4. No biggie says Lou--we'll just cut this red one. Say WHAAAAT? And the helluva it was, it actually worked. Triumph!! Boat loaded for the morn, ready to go--THIS TIME, we're gonna kill 'em. On the water early. Full of coffee and hope. Load the boat, stow the gear, and...yank the starter cord on the outboard. A lot. Nothing. Smell of gas. Lots of gas. Hmmm...gas dripping in the river. That can't be good. Open the cowling. Squeeze the pressure bulb. Hmmmm...why is gas spraying all over the inside of the motor every time the bulb is squeezed? Seems to be coming out of that little crack there...

Checkmate. I told Lou it took me back to being 8 yrs old and wanting so badly to fish while my grandpa screwed around with machinery---lesson being that these things never work right.

Thus endeth the great Shad expedition of 2009. Better luck next year?

Lou--who is currently all geeked up on Springsteen because he is playing State College (!!!) on Friday night, made the following changes (6 letters only!!) to his classic "Badlands". To wit...

Shadlands, you gotta live it everyday

Let the broken hearts stand

As the price you've gotta pay

We'll keep Fishin' till it's understood

and these Shadlands start treating us good

I guess we have to go back!

Vicar is a frickin' genius

I kid you not . . .

I just got back from the Rich Stedman/panel discussion mega-event on watersheds, and I have to tell you, I pretty much lost my appetite in the first 35 or 40 seconds after hearing the woman introduce our boy Vicar.

In the immortal words of Dave Barry, "I am not making this up." Mr. Bill (who was there) will back me up on this.

I believe the words I heard were . . . and this is an exact quote . . . and again, I am not making this up:

"Rich Stedman is God's gift to watersheds."

End of quote.

I just about lost my lunch and I still have a bad taste in our mouth. I mean, really. Sure he's good. Sure he's too busy to blog with his brothers the jerky-loving brethren. Sure he's tenure-track and all that. But c'mon . . . "God's gift to watersheds"?

Unbelievable. Simply, unbelievable.

I don't remember a single word of anything that was said after that, but I'm sure Rich's presentation was awesome. After all, he's "God's gift to watersheds." yechhh.

"God's gift to watersheds"

(circa 1998, when we knew him simply as, "Rich")