Fly Fish Chick

It’s that time of year when we are drawn into the centrifugal force of chaos called the holidays. My to do list has been eating me alive…return one more email, do another load of laundry, call the washing machine repair guy, wash laundry by hand, get those library books back up to school, attend the holiday music performance, pay bills, find work, do the work, buy new holiday clothes for Little Chick, cheer for football, scour the BCS bowl game predictions online, starve myself to fit into this one particular party dress, ditch the starvation idea and convince myself texmex food is South Beach Diet friendly, make the Christmas gift list (another list!)….and so on and so forth.

But in a few short hours I get on a plane and I am switching lists. Time to fold up the to do list and forget about what didn’t get crossed off. And in the spirit of Thanksgiving, it’s time to make a list of all the things for which I am truly thankful this year.

Specifically, I am grateful for:

1. the fact that my daughter is so naturally sweet and soulful
2. my mom for writing out her pumpkin bread recipe by hand and sending me a can of pumpkin to get me started
3. my dad for giving me the Scott G2 5 weight for my birthday and the opportunity to catch some unforgettable trout on dry flies
4. all the fishing I was able to do this year
5. old friends from highschoool and college
6. new girlfriends I’ve met here in Austin
7. best girlfriends who lure me into long lunches with champagne and wine
8. the Professor
9. the jukebox at The Horseshoe Lounge
10. Willie Nelson and Cross Canadian Ragweed and Seth Walker
11. the people at Neuva Onda for knowing my breakfast taco order by heart
12. the fact that Carolina beat Notre Dame and I was in Chapel Hill to see it 
13. the family who has invited me to spend Thanksgiving with them
14. my grandmother for sending a little check to help Santa stuff the stocking
15. all the raucous laughter
16. anyone & everyone who reads this blog and all the new friends I’ve made through FFC
17. this hunk of a brown trout who, for just one little moment in time, let me win

And the list goes on……

I hope everyone has a safe and happy Thanksgiving filled with family and friends and food and football. If you have a second to spare, break away from your to do list and help me keep this list going. What are you grateful for this year?

From a boat ramp on the Big Hole to a coffee shop in Austin. Funny where this little cult – uh, I mean sport – will take us. And this time you may actually benefit from my most recent small-world encounter. Let me explain.

You may recall that on my trip to Montana just a few weeks ago I met a guy named Gaper who had written a fishing book. Well in a fortuitous plot twist it turns out his publisher, Tosh Brown, lives right here in Austin Texas! Soon after I wrote my post about Gaper, a mutual friend connected me with Tosh.

Next thing you know we’re having coffee at Austin Java and brainstorming ways to spread the word about his new project. Cause it’s a good one. 

Tosh is a venerable outdoor photographer and author who recently launched a new company called Departure Publishing. I’ll spare you the traditional press-release speak and say bluntly: This Is Not Your Father’s Outdoor Book Publisher.

It’s no secret digital cameras and message boards have redefined the relationship between fly-fishing and media. A relationship that was once a predictable, stale marriage is now a torrid and tumultuous affair.

Tosh wants to harness this same edge and energy into the world of outdoor print. He plans to publish writers that speak to (and sometimes even shout at) the innovative, yet disenfranchised derelicts who embody the ever-warring extremes of idealism and cynicism within fly-fishing.

Uh, I think he’s talking to us.

Miles is his debut author. Miles Nolte (aka Gaper) was a fishing guide in Alaska who detailed his daily adventures in a bulletin board thread on The Drake website. The thread, titled AK Chronicles, became so popular that throngs of people were logging on daily to follow his journey. His book, The Alaska Chronicles, is based on the now infamous posts on The Drake and will be available Spring 2009.

It doesn’t get more grassroots than that. The guy didn’t even start with a blog. He posted a thread in a bulletin board. It’s like the field of dreams….if you post it they will come….and read it. And comment. And rant. And beg for more. Let’s just say when it comes to fly-fishing, Miles Nolte puts the cult in culture.

Support your fellow troutlaws who are trying to shake things up and bring you something fresh. Visit the Departure website to learn more about the backstory and sign up to win a FREE signed copy of the book. This book is bound (hardbound in fact) to cause a stir and you could have a free signed copy. Just click here to enter your name for the drawing.

No duplicate entries and dead relatives are not eligible. Good luck and CHEERS to Tosh & Miles for laying it all on the line in an effort to entertain and make a difference.

After disappearing this summer on a super-extended fishing vacation, I promised regular FFC reader Monty Montana (who was none too pleased that I abandoned my blog without explanation) that as a meager penance I would deliver some cupcakes to a nearby Veteran’s Hospital. What better day than Veteran’s Day, right??

I recruited Little Chick to the project so she could experience this patriotic service project. We started at the grocery, picked out our supplies and made a feast of cupcakes.

Then we went to the Veterans Affairs web site to find our spot. We decided on a Veterans Outpatient Clinic on the east side of town.

I will admit I was a little disappointed when we arrived because the parking lot was so empty. Oh well, I mused to Little Chick, “We must just be really early. Plus, even if there aren’t a number of veterans in the clinic today, the people who work here will appreciate the cupcakes too!”

Of course we had to snap a few pictures before heading in.

We marched boldly toward the entrance, excited to share our humble (albeit heartfelt & delicious) offering with our heroes. But when the electric doors wouldn’t slide open I took a closer look at the sign staring me in the face:

Oh. My. Freaking. Word. Are you kidding me???? But it wasn’t a joke. Sorry folks, clinic’s closed. Moose out front shoulda told ya.

I kinda felt like doing this.

But they don’t have a moose outside the clinic and Little Chick and I were laughing too hard to get too upset. I swear, does this sort of thing only happen to me?

Oh well. Determined to salvage the quest in some form or fashion, we delivered the cupcakes to our church where they are hosting a dinner this evening, so all was not lost.

HAPPY VETERANS DAY.

Was cruising past the greatest music venue of all time, The Continental Club, and noticed The Meat Purveyors on the Thursday night marquis. Had to swing in and support my buddy, Pete, the mandolin player. Pete and I first met through our local TU chapter and in a weird twist we ran into each other back in September at another venerable Austin dive.

Once again we had fun drinking Lone Stars and swapping fishing stories. Then The Meat Purveyors took the stage and wowed the crowd with some edgy cowpunk-style bluegrass that was out of sight.

You have to love a guy who plays the hell out of a mandolin and a Texas redfish…

A purveyor of meat and fish. Cheers to Pete.

After a few days on The Big Hole, we ventured over to Craig to see what the Missouri had to offer. As we pulled off the interstate The Professor nodded toward an energy windmill that was earning its keep, spinning ferociously round and round.

“Well, that’s not good,” he quipped.

I maintained my naively positive attitude and delved straight into the flyshop firedrill, preparing for a good long day on the water. Shuttle arranged and cooler stocked, we were barreling down the road – halfway to the put-in – when I remembered the rods. Damn.We forgot the freaking rods.

The sing-songy voice in my head took its first hit as we went back for the rods.

Once again on course, we pulled up to the Wolf Creek Bridge and my Pollyanna point of view took another nosedive. The sky was gray, the wind was howling, it was cold. I watched the wind have its way with the river, causing white-capped waves that looked like roughly whipped peaks of buttercream frosting on a cake.

“Good heavens,” I uttered meekly. “It looks like the ocean.” A small part of me wanted to flash my Girl Card and retreat back to the house to hunker down with a fire, some hot chocolate and a cheesy movie. Clearly others had flashed the same credentials because the parking lot was deserted and no one was on the water.

No, no, no. I pushed that notion from my mind and decided I was going to buck up, bundle up and conquer the day, monstrous winds and all. Despite a bleak outlook I sensed the river had an adventure in store for us.

What can I say? Sometimes it pays to harbor idealistic fantasies. We started the day with some nice browns on streamers. Pretty consistent action, to be honest.

All that casting and catching and reaching for the net warmed me up in no time, and I forgot about the blustery conditions. But as often happens, just as I was starting to get into a groove, the wheels came off. The wind shifted directions, kicked up several notches, and basically molested my cast. The more frustrated I got, the more I buggered it up and couldn’t get my bugger in the right spot. The Professor was coaching me and even though I understood what he was telling me conceptually, my cast was in a downward spiral and I was asking for the oars.

He wouldn’t let me bow out of the bow, but he did abandon some fishy-looking water in favor of the opposite bank. Smart guy. Now the wind was coming over my right shoulder and suddenly I was casting like a pro! Once we moved river left my second cast delivered this jewel:

At that point I did take the rower’s seat but struggled to hold the bank in the wind. Despite my tenuous control of the boat, The Professor managed to hook up with a slab of a rainbow:

The day just improved from here. We fished streamers until about four in the afternoon, when the fish began to rise to the occasion and we shifted to dry flies. The wind eased up, the beer started to flow and each fish felt like gravy on top of an already spectacular day. As the old Trout Shop saying goes…Adventure, Danger, Romance…and a Few Large Fish.

It was a quixotic trip on The Missouri to be sure.

Regular FFC reader Harry sent pictures of his buddies’ big fish that he caught on The Big Hole. Pretty spectacular…