Travels with Vanny

Figure Drawing Class

2012-01-23T09:33:00.000-08:00

Last chance To sign up for class!

Drawing the Human Form from Life
Instructor: James Vogel

James VogelDraw from a live model. Emphasis will be seeing the form though preconceptions. Practice using negative space, mass, contour and erasure drawing to discover the human form. All levels welcome, beginners encouraged. Students must bring: large drawing board with clips, large newsprint pad, large quality pad or substitute smooth paper, vine charcoal, graphite , chamois and various erasers. Min 8 students.
Painting/Drawing Studio
6 Tues, 6:30-9:30pm
Session1: Jan 24–Feb 28
Session 2: Mar 20–April 24 Fee: $130/$125 Member
Questions? 765-1341 or jim4334@yahoo.com

T-Shirt, Costa Concordia

2012-01-19T13:24:00.000-08:00

Vida a borda, Cazzo !!!

http://www.zazzle.com/vida_a_borda_cazzo_tshirt-235309188813250582?rf=238097571904495459,

http://rlv.zcache.com/vida_a_borda_cazzo_tshirt-p235309188813250582z7kpc_325.jpg

Vida a borda, Cazzo !!!

Art along the Mississippi in Minneapolis

2012-01-16T21:57:00.000-08:00

Local Systems

2012-01-09T10:29:00.000-08:00

Installations created in collaboration with Robert Dougherty

2012-01-07T10:29:00.000-08:00

The scene on the lower Russian

A Guy Thing ?

2011-12-09T22:10:00.000-08:00

If you didn't know better, it is just a form wrapped in straw.

The Secret Life Of Tools

2011-10-31T10:54:00.000-07:00

ORDINARY HELL

Doing something and a certain tool is required.
Own it but can't find it
Know from experience I’ll find it when I don’t need it anymore.
Can't stop looking until I don't need it.
Think I may own three, (3), tres, of that same #?*!%!!! tool.
Can’t stop looking until the job is done.
Can’t move on until this job is done
Hate it. I’m stuck. I hate that tool.

Those who remodel old houses - a job where a plethora of specialized and unique tools are required - know about this.
Some tools just seem prone to go missing when they would be of greatest use.
We have an expression,
“It‘s a good tool but doesn’t like to work.”

Tallahassee International

2011-10-04T10:41:00.000-07:00

I was honored to be included in this fine show:

http://www.mofa.fsu.edu/TallInt2011.pdf

images: 1.tinkering with Best of Show,2. Jean Young, 3.entry, 4.long view, 5.after opening

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3.
4.
5.

Lots of Life Drawing In Sebastopol

2011-09-17T08:12:00.000-07:00

Last chance to sign up for my class.

Go Figure!
Facilitator: James Curtis

Non-instructed drop-in, open studio figure study sessions. Draw, paint, and/or sculpt the human figure from a live model in an open, well-lit studio. All levels of experience invited to participate. Bring your own materials. Artists must be at least 18 years of age.

Every Wed evening, drop-in, 7-10pm,
Fee: $15 per session or $50 for 4-prepaid sessions
Contact Jim at 576-0628 or cell 332-7877 or jcurt@sonic.net

Tuesday Morning Drawing Group

Meets from 9am to Noon, with a live model and no instructor. Visit the first session free. If you decide to continue, the fee is $45 monthly. For questions, email joycebobart@aol.com or call Joyce at 707.577.8218.

Drawing the Human Form from Life
Instructor: James Vogel

Practice drawing from the live model. We will practice using negative space, mass, contour and erasure drawing to discover the human form. All levels of experience welcome, and beginners encouraged. Min 8 students. Contact jim4334@yahoo.com or 765-1341

6 Tuesdays Sept 20 - Oct 25, 6-9pm

Fee: Non-member $130 / member $125

If you would like to be taken off the mailing list let me know. Thanks Jim

Collage - Assemblage Show at Sebastopol Art Center

2011-07-26T21:51:00.000-07:00

Opening Reception
Thursday, July 28
6 pm – 7:30 pm

Exhibiting Artists:

Mark Brudzinski, Deborah Butterfield, Ira Carter, Judy Danner, Kathy de Rosas, Hollynn D’Lil, Susan Fuller, Lisa Glicksman, Alan S. Hopkins, E.A.(Betsy)Kellas, Monica Lee-Boutz, Karen Lockert, Walt McCallum, Anya Mettet, Dean Moniz, Sabina Nieto, Gregory Odle, Renee Owen, Susan Proehl, Lionel Rouge-Perez, Ruth Rubanowitz, Andrea Rutherford, Susandra Spicer, James Vogel.
Coordinators’ wall:
Michele Amandola, Cecily Axt, Mary Bramwell, Steve Cook, Susan Cornelis, Lynn C. Davies, Janet Gelfman, Barbara Harris, Gerald Huth, Cat Kaufman, Judy Ludovise, Kathy McCallum, Catherine McCauley, River Mortenson, Renee Owen, Jonnie Russell, Zann.

State Fair

2011-07-18T10:17:00.000-07:00

Laurie and I went to the fair to eat Corn Dogs and see my work.

Monumental @ the Dump

2011-07-02T11:54:00.000-07:00

Figure Drawing in Sebastopol

2011-06-22T09:09:00.000-07:00

Sign up now to make this class happen. Deadline to register is drawing near.

Drawing the Human Form from Life
Instructor: James Vogel
6 Tuesdays July 5-Aug 9, 4-7pm
$130 Non-member/ $125 member
The class will practice drawing from the live model. Emphasis on seeing the form though preconceptions. Minimum 8 students.
Contact jim4334@yahoo.com or 765-1341.

Show At P.A.C.

2011-06-11T14:50:00.000-07:00

Hope you can make it.

The Steins Collect

2011-06-10T08:34:00.000-07:00

1. I had every intention of taking lots of pictures of famous and obscure Picassos and Matisses and posting them to my blog, but photos were not permitted.
While waiting the 2 hours to get into show I found a Jasper Johns (gray) and a Clifford Still (black). To look at these two paintings and know nothing of the intentions of the artists', one could assume ( rightly or wrongly) they were the same. The only difference is that one is gray and the other black. The are both encaustic paintings on canvas. Except for one difference - Johns painted on the "back" of his canvas.
2. There I said it : Rauschenberg. On a separate topic - What is it with the Germans and consonants?
3. Lastly, the the best piece I saw all day. My Blog, My opinion. It's a gazillion staples on a phone pole in Haight Asbury. Man! that thing was/is rich. A phone pole - yes!

My Class at Sebastopol Art Center

2011-06-05T09:01:00.000-07:00

Drawing the Human Form from Life
Instructor: James Vogel
6 Tuesdays July 5-Aug 9, 4-7pm
$130 Non-member/ $125 member
The class will practice drawing from the live model. Emphasis on seeing the form though preconceptions. Minimum 8 students.
Contact jim4334@yahoo.com or 765-1341.

Last Class at the J.C.

2011-05-27T08:00:00.000-07:00

Here are some examples of our latest efforts at the J.C.. Laurie and I finished the class this week. Many thanks to Claire Cotts. She shared her love of art and created a space where effort and talent was valued and encouraged. Thanks, also, to all that left feedback. We might have a show in the front room - free snacks. I think would like to continue working on portraits so if anyone is interested in sitting for me let me know.

Art in The City

2011-05-10T20:22:00.000-07:00

Will and I went to see some art in S.F. Duchamp, Arneson, Pollock. David Simpson, Thiebaud, Diebenkorn and some others.

Life Drawing

2011-05-07T08:38:00.000-07:00

Schetch Crawl, Petaluma

2011-04-18T08:23:00.000-07:00

Charley espera.

Show and latest figure drawings

2011-03-25T09:30:00.000-07:00

A picture from the Abstract show and some of our (Laurie and my)latest figure drawings.

Abstract Show

2011-03-17T21:33:00.001-07:00

I am very happy/proud to be in this show. The opening is March 24th 6pm - 7:30pm, 6780 Depot St., Sebastopol. Hope to see you there!

Figure Drawing Show @ J.C.

2011-03-05T08:16:00.000-08:00

Here are some glimpses of our latest efforts at the library of the Petaluma Campus. Big thanks to Super Teach Claire Cotts for curating/hanging the show.

Fishing the Russian

2011-02-16T09:10:00.000-08:00

Steelhead fishing with is a card game. Your opponent is the river. You are dealt a hand which includes, the weather, time of year and specifically the hole you are fishing. Your cards are the flies, the lines and the casts you make.
You pick a day because you know your river. You know what time of year it is, how much it has rained and how fast your river clears and drops. You know if you have a shot at catching a fish, at winning the game. You know much of this without even going fishing , because in fact, you are always fishing.
On those days when you decide to go fishing, depending on how much time you have, you may have a number of holes you will fish. Each hole is a hand. When you look back at the game with the knowledge of all that had passed that day , you consider : Was there a better way to play that hand? Should I have used this fly or that line? Put more time at that lie. Was that a trout or a bump? At the end if you can say , “I played well”, you are satisfied. If you continue to play well you will catch fish and that will be nice but, in the mean time ….. In those “Mean Times”, you'll hold you winnings - the images of light reflected on moving water, the echos of the current in you mind and the smell of the river in you hands.

Life Drawing 2

2011-02-14T10:46:00.000-08:00

I think we are getting better.

Life Drawing @ SRJC

2011-01-30T09:27:00.000-08:00

Laurie and I are taking Claire Cotts Life Drawing Class at the J.C.
I am hoping it's like riding a bike anyway it's fun and Claire is a great teacher.

The Russian

2011-01-29T09:52:00.000-08:00

For all ye high minded fly fishing fools El Nino may be conspiring to make you happy!
The Russian is high but flyfishable as we speak.

sorry about the picture - not my fish, new camera

More Florida (revised)

2010-12-27T08:48:00.001-08:00

I love stories of children overcoming inherited hardship. Those stories that pit the vulnerable purity of a child against the harsh corrupt adult establishment effect me deeply. Charles Dickens exploited this genre to great effect in “David Copperfield” and “Oliver Twist”. Their have been many since. Recently, I have read a few, “The Glass Castle”, “The Golden Mountain”, “The Color of Love” and the work of Tobias Wolf and Frank McCourt come to mind as good examples. If we understand “karma” to mean the circumstantial environment into which we are born, these are essentially tales of great spiritual triumph. Politicians know the value of this narrative and tell it ad nauseum . It is not my story.
In 1958, to a kid from the New York City area, Florida was another universe. Actually anywhere south of Pennsylvania seemed a different country. The Mason Dixon Line still existed as a cultural boundary and you knew it when you crossed it. But Florida was special, not so much a "Southern" state as a land of myth and wonder where air was thick with sulfur, trees shrouded in Spanish Moss and spiky grass filled with poisonous insects. Instead of Santa Claus, there was Ponce de Leon who promised his own brand of magic - something of tremendous value though of little interest to us at that time. And the alligators - no where in New Jersey could you find an animal that promised such death and destruction in one encounter; a living nightmare and a dream come true for a 8 year old boy.
Before his back went bad, my dad liked to drive, so he concocted a family vacation that involved a lot of driving. The preparations were as elaborate as an amphibious invasion. They involved the transport of wife, nanny, three kids and luggage enough for a two week stay. Some years, I think, there may have been a nanny for the nanny as well. My dad was not one to travel light. For this trip all had to fit into and on top of a station wagon - the very model Judy Garland was driving at the time. The starting point was our home in northern New Jersey and the destination was half way down the Florida coast.
The country was flush with optimism. The depression and the war were behind us and especially in the north the economy was booming. Cars were then, as now, emblems of identity, evidence of worthiness and testaments to vanity. Form scoffed at function for our Chrysler wagon. Great fins, faux luggage racks and an enormous motor was all you needed to cruise Eisenhower's Autobahn. It had three rows of seats. My parents sat up front, the nannies plus sister in the middle and my brother and I were in the back. For what seemed like such a great place to experience the wonder of a long road trip, the back seat had its drawbacks. With its rear facing view, whip-lash ride and a hot sun filled window, that when opened, sucked in leaded exhaust fumes, the back seat was custom made to cook and nauseate its occupants.
As we traveled, the pure discomfort of the ride was overcome only by the anticipation of the next stop in this increasingly exotic country. The burgeoning art of the roadside attraction was in its infancy and characterised by experimentation and opportunism. As well as the more well funded pits such as “South of the Boarder”, one most memorable to me was a house that had slipped off its foundation and was being marketed grandly as “The Mystery House” where marbles rolled, on there own, all the way across the room. The further south we got the stronger the feeling - “We’re not in (New Jersey ) anymore”. I would not have been surprised to see flying monkeys perched in the trees along the highway. Nothing was more thrilling than the marginal motels and their questionable bed sheets that induced such horror in my mother and the nannies. People talked so gently and slowly it seemed there was a bowl of free candy on every table. However, even from my perch, I could see sharply drawn contrasts. There were mansions and shacks - lots of shacks. Blacks were blacker, Whites whiter and dust rose from gangs of men chained at work along the side of the road. The food was uniformly light brown and there were pecan rolls that came out looking just like they went in.
It took three or four days to complete the journey. At last we arrived at a dubiously maintained wooden bridge that crossed the Indian River. There is nothing like a near dear death experience to unify the inhabitants of a car. The Lord’s Prayer was uttered in German by the nannies continuously as the tires from our heavily loaded wagon made loose planks of the bridge click and groan as we passed impossibly high above the inland waterway and into Melbourne. There we stayed at the edge of the ocean in Neptune Hall - a motel right on the beach complete with its own cast of mythical characters. There was the King, the owner, a morbidly obese man my dad called Slim, the kindly Doctor Sweet and his Little Mermaid daughter Kitty. Dickens would have approved - Kitty Sweet lived up to her name bestowing on my brother a first glimpse at the awesome power of romantic love. .
When we did finally arrive, it was all sand and sun and more marginal bedding. This time the shacks were ours and they were right on the beach. We were warned to check our shoes for scorpions in the morning as the screen doors were so flimsy there was no way to keep the outside from in. It was such fun, we couldn’t get enough and as a result got too much. Too much sun for our little northern bodies - by the second week my siblings and I were busy peeling off burned layers of skin. The first year found me badly burned, paralyzed with pain. Ministered to by the good doctor and the nannies, I was confined to the shade for days.
Florida is difficult to find now. It is hidden beneath vast carpets of well irrigated spongy crab grass and strategically placed palm trees. Even sidewalks and enormous air conditioned interiors give us just what we want and push aside what we were seeking. But sometimes, early in the morning, “off season” and before there is enough light to dispel the dream, a silhouette of huge low hanging spider or the sudden splash at the edge of the path can bring back that Florida I once knew.

More Clam Pass

2010-12-10T08:02:00.000-08:00

Sutton Hoo on the Trinity

2010-11-16T10:40:00.000-08:00

Peter S. had this to say about fishing the Trinity last Saturday :

"The river was dropping, not many fish in the system, I cought (sic) this 30" female swinging a small black leech on a 6 wt rod fishing a type 3 -18' sink tip on a run between "Bucktail" put-in and Old Steel Bridge takeout about noon on Sat."

Old Steel Bridge - great place on beautiful river

8 Days in Florida

2010-10-14T07:40:00.000-07:00

Sept 11
It was off season in the land of retirement. The land where tendency and desire roam free and obligation and duty take a back seat. The three hour difference from California to Florida helped me get down to the beach early this morning. There I saw a small commotion taking place at the mouth of Clam Pass. On a spit of sand in the current that was rapidly emptying the water of Clam Lagoon were three figures - a older woman in a beach chair, an older man (apparently her husband) and very large pile of brownish green flesh.
"Your going to hurt your back!" the woman yelled at the man who was toiling at the flesh pile. Harry continued to toil, I decided to investigate.
"Harrrry, leave that alone - the beach people will take care of it." she yelled again as I approached Harry and what I now recognized as a manatee the size off a compact car. It was stuck in the sand just about four feet from the edge of the bar where Clam Pass empties into the Gulf of Mexico.
" I think if I can make a trench in front of her she will slide into the deeper water" Harry said to me as I began to dig.
"Is it dead " I asked.
"Oh no. She just got stuck about thirty minutes ago." said Harry going around and lifting the beast's enormous head out of the water. As it cleared the surface I could see two slits flare open into oval shaped nostrils as the manatee sucked in a huge gulp of air before Harry gently lowered it's head back into the rushing water. We both dug around the edges of the animal and then tried to lift it. No go.
"Harrrrry, Stop that! you're going to hurt yourself." called the woman from the beach chair.
We dug some more and then tried again to lift the animal. I could not believe how passive this thing was. We were busily digging all around it, occasionally trying to budge it toward the open water. Now and then we splashed water on its back and lifted its head out of the water so it could grab some air. And, it just lay there; this enormous "wild", animal, just lay there like huge pile of very dense jello.
"Harrrry. Come back here. I'm calling the police.!" screamed the woman as she tucked a cell phone to her ear under a monstrous beach hat.
The sun climbed in the morning sky and we were getting nowhere. There is something about digging that evaporates my enthusiasm for a project no matter how important it seems to be. This was turning out to be very hard work. I began to think about the delicate state of my own back. The Florida sun was getting hotter and the edge of the bar further away as the tide continued out. I was feeling jet lagged and was hoping the "beach people" or the police might show up soon.
"Harrrrrry. Leave that thing alone. The police will take care of it", the beach chair screeched yet again.
That was it! I shouted over my shoulder, "Give the guy a break - It's the most meaningful thing he'll do all day!" We kept digging. You'll notice I did not include myself in that statement because my "To Do List" for the day read like this:

1. Go to beach.
2. Save manatee.
3. Buy decent coffee.
4. Take nap.
5. Buy decent beer.

We dug and lifted and dug and lifted and got nowhere. But then the " beach people" did show up. They were a couple of under-employed man children in bright red shorts who ordinarily put out the umbrellas and beach chairs. Like union workers who carefully avoid extending the limits of their jobs they stood a safe distance and filled us in on the pithy details of what was happening.
"Yup, it's a manatee. Those things are heavy, and, This has happened before."
Oh, thanks a bunch.
I tried wedging myself under tail end and pushing with my feet so that the current would run under the animal instead of pressing it down. It's what I do when confronted with an impossible task - I theorize. It never works and makes me look ineffective, but at least it keeps me there. Of course, what Harry was doing wasn't working either but, he was still there too and in the end that was what worked.
Eventually a couple came over and the wife took on the job of splashing water on the manatees back and the husband helped us dig. Then there were four of us buzzing around this inert shape. It was still way too heavy but our cause was attracting people from all over the beach. Suddenly, it became "Yes We Can" and four more people joined in and with one mighty lift the beast tipped over the edge of the bar, flipped its tail and cruised out to the gulf.

href="http://www.explorenaples.com/photo_gallery_all.php?naples=18&galleryNUM=1393&id=1393">

Map Love

2010-09-09T09:58:00.000-07:00

I'm changing my name to Patchouli Tie Dye

Sea Run Cutts

2010-08-14T11:27:00.000-07:00

I hit a tiny coastal river with one of my interns I have working for me in the boat. He grew up on the coast and told me of this little known fishery. Having never targeted sea run cutts, I brought the arsenal (5wt, 8wt, spin rods, bait)...after trying all fly methods I resorted to the local method: Trolling with spinners (salmon colored wedding ring was the ticket) with a small worm on the hook. Just 10 min after High Tide, the bite was on! These fish are hot. On a 5wt would be a real hoot.

I brought home my limit, (2fish) the meat is pink like salmon and folks say it is better than salmon and steelhead, planning on eating wed night. This type of fishing is ideal for little kids, so I am excited to have learned it. I thing trolling leaches on sink tips might work.
-Chris

Yeah,
I caught some on a river that drained into the Puget Sound by letting the fly lay on the bottom a couple of beats then jigging it up.
-j

Florida Report

2010-08-06T10:36:00.000-07:00

Flamingo in Everglades National Park

Finally a week of calm conditions and a weekend of predicted calm conditions are in store for us in South Florida. Where to go first, that is the problem. Redfish, tarpon, a few snook and seatrout have been feeding on the flats of Florida Bay and the areas around Snake Bight, Palm Key, Frank Key, and Garfield Bight. All are good places to start in the morning. Lots of big sharks have been feeding on mullet schools on the shallow grass flats. Snappers can be found in almost every channel and on the deeper grass flats.

Snook, seatrout, redfish, snappers, jacks and ladyfish can be found along the beaches and shorelines that have downed trees. Offshore Spanish mackerel can be found along with jacks, and sharks plus a few tarpon. Look for the frigate birds and diving terns. Over the rock piles and wrecks permits, large jacks, a few cobia, giant goliath groupers and huge sharks will be available. High tide at Flamingo in Florida Bay on Saturday will be at 7:06 AM and in Whitewater Bay high tide is at 8 AM.

Great fishing in July should continue into August Go Catch Them!
Capt. Roan zumFelde
July 25, 2010
Naples - Saltwater Fishing Report

Great fishing for most of the month of July and it looks like it is continuing directly into August. Bonnie was a bust fishing resumes as normal in the Naples and Marco waters.

July fishing was very good inshore, offshore, Bait, Fly and pretty much whatever you wanted to do. Lets hope August stays the same it looks good so far. Snook fishing was very good on both bait and fly most of the month. The fish were pretty much everywhere, from the passes all the way to the back country. Great numbers of fish along with some big one's were in or around all the passes from Cax to Wiggins. They were hitting most everything including small baitfish flies, White Bait, and Jigs. The fly fishing was better in the late afternoon and into the night for both Snook and Tarpon. Morning fishing was good but you needed to be there early, which is typical summer fishing. The nice thing about morning though, less bugs and we fished to more large floaters and Tarpon in the Back Country. One morning especially, we landed two 32 and 35 inch Snook and jumped 7 Tarpon up to 40 pounds landing one all on Rz's Tarpon Muddler in Yellow and Grey. Bait fishing has been excellent also, fishing a Hamilton Harbor BCS Charity Tourney last week my anglers D.J. and Tom from North Ft. Myers were able to Card out with Two Snook and Two Redfish and win by a very slim margin over 2nd place finisher Todd Geroy and third Place Mike Rucker. The Tourney was a lot of fun and a great group of guys and gals fished it. We were lucky to win, the second Redfish was the deciding factor. Red fishing in the Naples and Marco waters has been very difficult. We caught ours under the Docks along the Gordon River. The offshore fishing has been hard to beat the last month. Great Snapper fishing both inshore and offshore has been awesome. Large mangroves and if you get out far enough they are catching some Muttons and Red Snapper. Also out there are scattered Kingfish, Sailfish, Black fin Tuna, and Cobia. Oh yeah and the Spanish Macks are everywhere off the beaches. I think this has been one of the best July's I have ever seen.
Naples Fishing Forecast:

What will happen in August? It looks pretty good. I do not see anything on the horizon to change things. Bait is still plentiful and the fish do not seem to be acting in a strange manner. I would expect a little increase in temps and hopefully a slow tropical season will keep us in business. It will depend on the Rain if it is heavier than usual then it will be slower fishing if it is steady then the fishing will be good. If it is less than normal the fishing will be difficult. Low rainfall and high temps will make thing a little tough, so lets hope for nice steady afternoon rains that keep the temps down in our waters. Our fish this time of the year need that influx of freshwater it is very important to them and there young one's. Offshore fishing should continue strong although I would expect the snapper fishing to slow a bit but other things should pick up. Small Tarpon fishing in the creeks should be good especially if we are getting steady rain. Big Tarpon will be non factor this month but should be back strong in the middle of next month. The most important thing is to get out and fish. Have Fun and please catch and release the Snook carefully. Thanks Roan z.

Important websites:

/www.savebristolbay.org/

www.forfish.org

Art in Store Fronts

2010-07-29T08:29:00.000-07:00

I may be making some progress here:

Count down for our McCloud

2010-07-27T08:15:00.000-07:00

News from the front.

" Hey Jim
There's a meeting on august 18th which appears to be our last chance to stop the kyakers from owning the first two months of trout season. If you can make it it would lend weight to our rather light resistance. I've been really busy working on the boat for salmon season so I've just been monitoring the situation with the Mc. Cloud and it doesn't look good. We need a really good lawyer to state our case(no help from cal trout or TU) or we will lose our precious spot as we always do in reliscencings . Doesn't seem like it should be legal to turn over our traditional fishing place and time to boating interest. Where does it end? In November the deal is done so we don't have much time. If you know anyone who might be able to help let me know.
Check out this fish from Hore Pond." Tom

Art Is A Lie

2010-07-21T10:46:00.000-07:00

Cool site I was fortunate to win a place in Showcase Winners "Mixed Media" section:

http://www.artslant.com/sf

Vanny Fishes the City4

2010-07-16T09:10:00.001-07:00

Vanny Fishes the City 3

2010-06-17T08:34:00.000-07:00

Went in to see my friend Dave Young's exhibit in 2 venues in the Tenderloin. Visited some other galleries : Ever Gold, Heist and Kokoro to name a few.

Nailed It !

2010-04-10T15:10:00.000-07:00

Every dog has his day. Woof... woof.

Vanny fishes the City

2010-04-02T09:14:00.000-07:00

Will and I met D Young V for Open Thursday in San Francisco:

1. Fecal Face (dot) Com Derek Albeck and Marco Zamora

2. The Lounge with Helen

3.KOKORO with Kristin Farr

4. Ever Gold Gallery American Cinema

5.The Last Gasp "Doggy Diner" heads and other " Lowbrow Art"

R.R. Chrons.

2010-03-15T11:33:00.000-07:00

Jan 11
Rode the few miles to Snag, mostly for the view. Hey, I live in a beautiful part of the world and its Spring!
This season could be a bust. Water levels are still high and visibility is back down to 2.5'. Good for the fish bad for the fly fisherman. I bet things are better on the coast where rivers clear/drop faster. I did get one nice picture from Tom a few months back. The fact I have not heard another peep leads me to believe, things must be pretty hot. One thing gives me hope for the Russian is, there were so few fish early on, maybe the run is late.
I'll try again in a week.
March 19
Wet year. Sometimes all a river wants to talk about is water.
March 28
Finally, the water has cleared up. There is actually about 5' visibility. Its still high but I had a chance. One grab at Snag, it could have been a trout or, maybe not. More rain on the way.

R.R.Chrons.

2010-02-25T10:42:00.000-08:00

Jan 16
First day back after rains. River was more brown than green (cafe au lait) about two foot visibility but dropping fast. Warm sunny day fished Memorial near fish ladder and 'Snag Hole' 2 miles down from Dry Creek. Seals were in both places so the fish were there but not for me.
Jan 18
Will and I rode down to 'Snag'. 'Fashion' fished and rode our way back up river. Water still high , 3 foot visibility. Heard of one fish caught. Fellow fisherman talk of few fish in the river - 800 at the hatcheries. River dropping fast.
Jan19
Get in before the rain. 3 foot visibility. Flotilla of drift boats (see pic). Saw one downstreamer caught. River dropping.
Jan 23
Lack of heavy rain encouraging- river dropping and clearing. Season waning, fish counts low, this could be as good as it gets this year. River has 5 foot visibility mostly green in color. Few fishermen out. Caught a couple of smolts/halfpounders.

Russian River Chronicals 2

2010-02-20T09:56:00.000-08:00

Jan 14
On our way back from Coos Bay we passed over some great Steelhead rivers:

River------------------condition (color)
*

1.The Rogue ------(high and cafe au lait)
*
2.The mighty Klamath ------( high au lait)
*
3.Redwood Creek------------(perfect and jade)
*
4.The EEL--------(perfect and perfect)
*
5.The Russian------(high au lait)

RR Chronicals 2010

2010-01-03T08:01:00.000-08:00

Jan 2
They had opened the mouth Jan 1. Went to fish Monte Rio on milk crate above bridge. In previous trips I noticed fish swimming up in the shallow water near the bank; on crate I can cast to that shore. Had sprained wrist so had to fish lefty. Water conditions good - about 5' visibility. Talked to guide at as he removed his drift boat Johnson's. He fly fished all day with client who tipped him $100 - I guess that was in addition to his usual day rate. Said he saw fish caught on Cleos, floated over fish but caught nothing. No fish for me.
Jan4
Fished Monte Rio again - this time north side. Drift boat came by, we exchange information. They had one hook-up down from Johnson's - that is the third time I heard of fish there. Head to to Neeley Rod and put in just above Summer Crossing. Wade up to below Johnson's - see fish roll and get one grab, maybe,...... if it wasn't a stick. But, Hey - SEE FISH!
Jan6
Launched pram to fish where i had seen them rolling. No fish rolling today. Had fun with new electric motor set-up and explored further down river from Johnson's. Found likely hole. Noticed 3 o'clock hatch of BWOs bringing up some pretty nice trout - will bring 5wt next time.`
Jan8
Decided to fish upper river. Took mountain bike to Dry Creek and rode about 2 or 3 miles down river to hole I had heard of. Meet Dan there who fishes it regularly (fifteen minutes a day). Water is 'gin clear', Dan thinks more rain is required to get the fish moving. No fish
Jan12
River blown.If it stopped raining today it would be more than a week before it would be fly fishable.

There is an agreement to remove the San Clemente Dam on the Carmel River:

www.watertechonline.com/news.asp?N_ID=73235"

Why not Nicasio ??
http://fishemail.blogspot.com/2009/01/editorial-marin-ij.html

Russian River Chronicles

2009-12-31T09:31:00.000-08:00

Dec 14
Stopped in Sebastopol Art Center to see my piece. Stopped at Quick Silver Gallery to see a show. First day fishing the river. Mostly a study trip, located a few spots I would like to monitor. No fish. Passed new gallery in Sebastopol. Met owner.

Dec 21
Mouth closed at Jenner, scheduled to reopen the 23rd fish should be to Guernville by Christmas. Dropped off CD of my work to James Oliver.

Dec 26
Riffle at Monte Rio flooded. Mouth was opened and closed again within hours. Did not fish.

Dec 28
Checked out Healdsburg. Memorial Beach had about 10 fishermen. Saw salmon from RR bridge. Looked for property on Fitch Mtn. Fished around Dry Creek area. No Fish.

Dec 30th
I'm 60 - Yikes! Fished Monte Rio and up to Johnsons. Water clear, mouth open. No fish. Stopped at J.O. Gallery on the way home. Not open.

Pictures are upper, middle, lower river and "Mean Egg".

Coos Bay Art Museum

2009-12-15T08:59:00.000-08:00

Hi,
I have a piece at a good show.
Current Exhibitions " On the Cutting Edge".
Check it out:

http://www.coosart.org/exhibitions_2009.html

Jim

Nuala Creed

2009-12-14T08:56:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends,

Here is a link to an article about my artwork:

http://ceramicartsdaily.org/ceramic-art-and-artists/ceramic-artists/nuala-creed/

The article is in this month's (December) issue of Ceramics Monthly.
Ceramics Monthly is a national art magazine. I am very pleased and
feel honored by the article.

Happy Holidays.

All the best.

Nuala

Charis Weston dies

2009-12-08T08:23:00.000-08:00

Post gratefully accepted from contributor Jackie Beckett :

charis weston died...nov 24, 2009 @ 95yoa...edward weston's second wife and muse
she lived with edward at wildcat hill in carmel, ca for 11 yrs & then divorced
like my relationship, i can relate to their spring-fall relationship...
for she was 19 he well into his 40's when they first met...
she trek'd with him on his guggenheim fellowship as his driver across america
of note, the first such award granted to a photographer
she was his principle muse in nude work
when will they make a full length movie edward weston ?
now cole and erica [house in volcano, hawai'i also] still walk this planet...this dynasty is near its end
the golden age of photography is gasping its last breath...listen to them says this old analog dinosaur
until again...jackie

“After eight months we are closer together than ever,” Edward Weston wrote in what he called his daybook in late 1934. “Perhaps C. will be remembered as the great love of my life. Already I have reached certain heights reached with no other love.”

Foster's Tent part 2

2009-11-28T08:54:00.000-08:00

" As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me." W.G.,1940

The McCloud River has some of the best river fishing that is open to the public in the in the world. It is always beautiful but there are two times a year that draw special attention from fishermen. One is spring - that is generally any time after opening day in April and until early July. The other is the first two weeks in November - the last two weeks of the season.
Fall fishing is particularly interesting because it includes the presence of October Caddis and large spawning German Brown trout. Because of the trifecta of big bugs, big fish and the end of the season, groups of fishermen make yearly pilgramiges to the two public campgrounds below the the dam.
Typically, fishermen are a solitary lot but things are different this time of year. With these recurring visits by groups of divergent fishermen from parts of California, Oregon and beyond friendships and rituals have been established that are unique to the modern fishing culture. It has become a kind of "Burning Man" of fishing where interests and personalities meet, innovate and ultimately form culture.
The action occurs in the campgrounds of Ash Camp and Ah-Di-Nah. The weather is uncertain often raining, sometimes snowing, so the creation of a comfortable campsite is important to its social viability. To begin with a well managed campfire is of great importance. This means an abundance of fire wood must be brought in. Also, in the more established sites, the campfires and picnic benches are covered by a big external tents. The evolution of the"outer tent" is of particular interest to the urban anthropologist. It must be constructed to withstand the elements and high enough from the ground so that the smoke from the campfire can dissipate. The campsite must also be well positioned to attract and accept visitors from other sites. Because no two sites are the same the tents become a unique expression of its makers. But as with much human creation, the visible is secondary to the invisible and the "tent" becomes a Tent for the communion of personality, politics and spirit.
In my visits to the McCloud at this time of year I have visited Tents from Walnut Creek, L.A., Silicon Valley and the Northern Coast. Each Tent had elements common and unique. The most distinguishing characteristics to each Tent are what could be called the drug of choice. For example, when Chris and I visited the Walnut Creek Tent at Ash Camp there was great selection of micro-brew beer served. see : http://fishemail.blogspot.com/2009_09_01_archive.html ("Adverse Fishing 3"). At other times, I have experienced the generosity of a Silicon Valley Tent where many fine wines were to be had. Of course the best weed was from the North Coast Tent. For a few seasons there was a Tent known as the "Gourmet Brothers". "The Gourmet Brother's" were a gay couple from L.A. who were famous for their satellite T.V and lavish feats including live lobster, caviar and champagne - all presented under the canopy of stars in the wilderness on the McCloud.
However, all is not distraction and merriment. There is serious exploration occurring within these groups. No Tent is complete without the presence of a fly tying area. Established and original fly patterns are developed and processed, and of course, fishing techniques and observations are shared at these tables.
"Foster's' Tent" has taken shape under the the persistent presence of David Foster. Dave's experience on the McCloud spans over thirty years and includes fishing the private waters in the Hearst Wyntoon properties and the Ballibokka Club. Dave's adventures include, as do all who visit the McCloud regularly, numerous encounters with bears and rattlesnakes, but, he is probably unique in having spent an entire night, in the river, with his foot trapped under a boulder.
Dave and lately Tom, set their Tent for both the opening and the closing of the season on the McCloud. In my last visit I saw the emergence of a new faces - young men sometimes fishing the McCloud for the first time. Some of them made there way over to Foster's Tent. It was great to see their fresh passion interact with the experience and wisdom of the regulars at Foster's Tent. Guys like Jim Moloney and Charley Ivor. Men up to the challenges of catch fishing in public water.
'Foster's Tent' is an expression of a culture has arisen over the fifty years since the installation of the dam at Lake McCloud, but the McCloud River is steeped in fishing lore and culture since the nineteenth century. There are ruins at Ah-Di-Nah that attest to white man's enduring interest in the McCloud as a river to fish. There also an abundance of Indian artifacts to be found that demonstrate the aboriginal inhabitants realized this river here was a special and unique fishing area.
This current culture of fishing with its long roots to the past and its vibrant future is now threaten by a group of well placed kayakers. These people, some of them in public offices, wish to manipulate the flows of the water into the river to accommodate their desire to kayak the river. They would like the flows to be increased during the warmer months of the year because, naturally, that is the comfortable time of year to kayak. Unfortunately for fishermen higher flows would be disastrous. The warmer months - April through November - are also the months the river is open for fishing. The higher flows would essentially limit fishing the to one side of the river by making it impossible to ford. It would also make the center of the river largely inaccessible and push all the anglers to one side. The well established riparian insect populations would also be severely threaten.
The pristine quality of the McCloud has survived numerous onslaughts over the years from logging companies and most recently from "Nestle's Food Company" http://www.redding.com/news/2009/sep/11/nestle-drops-mccloud-bottling-plant-plans/. The success of these battles were due largely to the combined voices of dedicated fishermen who are passionate about the river. To allow the kayaker's to turn the McCloud into a joy ride and ruin the its amazing fishing characteristics would be a crime.

.

'Foster's Tent ' part one: Fishing I5

2009-11-22T07:36:00.000-08:00

I left for Oregon Tuesday and made it to 'Valley of the Rogue State Park' that night. It was raining and dark when I arrived. Tired, bleary eyed, I found a campsite one hundred yards from the piece of river I planned to fish the following morning.
Fishing sites along Highways is not to encounter wilderness in its pristine form. Often the sound of the rush of traffic is equal to the rush of the river and it is as common to snag a stray shopping cart as to hook a wild fish. But, these are the times we live in and I consider it a kind of reality check to fish 'trampled' waters.
After a good night's sleep I had no luck at this I5 hole. I did find a good cup of coffee in the town of Rogue River and this I sipped with warm satisfaction on my way through Merlin to 'Carpenter's Island'. There after fording chest high cold water I got to the island that cuts the Rogue almost in half. After a few hours of flogging the water, I found my way to success.
It happened as I was negotiating my way around a bush that was hanging out into the river. I was holding my rod away from the tree and grabbing a branch for balance as I manoeuvred my way about it. Having not reeled in my gear, the line floated freely, the fly anonymously downstream when like the flash of the paparazzi camera my fly was recognized in its aquatic milieu. The loosely held rod popped out of my hand; pulled away by an adoring fan. Watching my rod swim rapidly down stream, I realized I must act. I dove into the frigid river head first in time to catch the butt of the rod. Pulling myself and the rod up out of the water I felt the big fish tugging. As cold water moved inside my waders from my upper body, to my yet warm crotch, to my extremities I struggled to gain control of the fish. Just about as the water reached my feet the fish got off. Alas, though soaked and cold, I now knew how to fish. Comfort - a small price to pay for knowledge.
Armed with with the knowledge of what the fish were biting and how they like it served, I retreated to the my van for fresh clothes and a trip to Merlin. It wasn't long before I was back on the river (this time at 'Ennis Riffle') with dry clothes, a full belly and renewed confidence. What I had found was working was, one, a hanging fly after a long swing and, two, a brown 'Woolly Bugger'- a perfect combination for a spey rod.
I fished 'Ennis' the rest of the day and caught the fish shown in the picture, camped there that night and refished, with success, 'Carpenter's Island the next morning. I then started to make my way back south to my ultimate destination of the McCloud to meet up with Tom, Dave and Chris at Foster's Tent at Ah-Di-Nah to close the season.
On the way back south, again on I5, I passed over the Upper Klamath river. Remembering what the venerable Dunsmuir angler, Joe Kimsey, had said about fishing the upper river at that time of year, I pulled off at the rest area and drove up the dirt road that follows the river. There, the river is banked on one side by I5 and the other by soggy pasture land. When Joe first fished it, I5 did not exist. Instead, Route 99 wound its way around rugged rock outcroppings and the creosote bush of this high desert plateau and the kinetic energy of the river surpassed by that of the road. No more, now I5 is a main artery of commerce between the Pacific Coast states. Twenty-four/seven, in the once isolated valley where the Klamath River is bridged, the human presence at rest at the the rest stop and in motion on the hyway, is equal to that of a small town. Some day when humanity has lost its grip on this planet, the river's sound in the riffles and rocks will again be heard, but now it is the rush of big rigs, the percussive thumping of tractor trailer air brakes and the whoosh of cars that dominate. Nevertheless, the river flows here pretty much as it has for a millennium and beneath the waters, where the fish are, it is quiet.
After a few tries at different spots I find a likely looking length of river where the rocks bend the flow to make probable holding areas for migrating fish. Since my spey rod was still rigged up from the Rogue and, I know no better, I employ the same trick here on the Klamath as worked on the Rogue. Sure enough after a few tries the fly is stopped and I have a fish on. This one gives me quite a fight and when I finally land it I see it is larger than the Rogue fish and from the unclipped dorsal fin I know it is wild. My fly is hooked deeply and with a sinking heart I see some blood pumping though its gills. I clip my fly and while holding the fish in the current I don't see more blood. Feeling sad and victorious I watch it swim away and allow myself a little hope for its survival.

Quick Trip

2009-10-14T08:49:00.000-07:00

The best thing about this trip was the camping. Full moon few fish.

1. First camped in the 'Seven Rivers' parking lot. The people I saw on my way to the rest room didn't look like the picture. A big No-No in casinos is eye contact.

2. On the banks of the Umpqua

3. Chris with fish @ 'Jacks'on the Rogue

4. Art show on the sidewalk around the Arcata Plaza. Best coffee at 'Jitters'

Adverse 3

2009-09-17T08:56:00.000-07:00

The third event involved the McCloud and the Upper Sacramento rivers. I met Chris the first week of November to fish the October Caddis hatch and close the season on the McCloud. I had fished the Feather on the way up and had caught an kept a nice hatchery Central Valley steelhead. My intention was to cook it for diner the the first night of our stay at Ash Camp. We had the site that is situated overlooking Hawkins Creek. The fire pit is at the edge of a cliff that stands eight to ten feet above the creek.
When we returned from fishing it was completely dark. While preparing the fire to cook the steelhead and placing a support rock in the pit, I stepped around the back and stepped into thin air. One foot was left on the top of the cliff as my other sought the bank. Something had to give; it was my groin. Luckily, I didn't hit my head or I probably won't be writing this essay. I still had waders and boots on and was protected from the bruises and cuts that usually accompany such a fall, but the following day I knew I was in bad shape.
The McCloud is a rugged wade. To fish it well you need to be somewhat of a gymnast to climb/crawl over and around the man size, car size and even bigger boulders. With my groin pulled, my stride was reduced to 10" and even that was painful. The thought of quitting or remaining in camp was not an option. Crestfallen about my condition, I resolved to make the best of a bad situation. After all, the country was beautiful, the leaves were turning in the the crisp autumn air and I had the companionship of my nephew. With aspirin and ibuprofen I could manage to 'baby step'around. Hoping optimistically, I might catch something from the at the edge of the path I followed Chris out of camp on the the Pacific Crest Trail and crossed the foot bridge over the McCloud.
All day I stumbled and crawled my way along the river bank. Every step was a painful challenge and my difficulties were compounded by a lite rain that made the rocks, mud and leaves more slippery. Though I had adjusted my expectations downward I had not expected to be so thoroughly skunked. My disappointment and self loathing were made more acute in relation to Chris's bountiful successes. For once the end of a fishing day came as a relief.
Back in camp, I stretched out on my bunk. The thought of not moving for twelve hours brought a sense of intoxicating relief. In my reverie, I was contemplating the closed loop of pleasure and pain as taught in Hatha Yoga when my rest was cut short by the appearance of a shinny new Mercedes van pulling into the site above. I peered out the window a saw the entire inhabitants of the campground were gathered around it. Pulling myself out I waddled up and was offered a beer. Whether it was a Summer Fest, October Fest, Dark Stout, I.P.A. or some more exotic brew is a blur. I do know by the end of the night we had accommodated the owners of E.J Phair Micro-brewery in Walnut Creek and taste tested all their fine brews multiple times. We aided them in their search for good tasting beer and in the process I found some temporary relief from the pain in my groin.
Strangely, the medicinal effects of fermented hops did nothing to improve my fishing and by noon the next day I was relieved to leave. It had been frustrating to be so close to the best trout fishing in the world and not fully participate. The trip had not been a complete wash. I had caught that steelhead on the way up, Chris had done well and the beer truck guys were fun. The problem had been getting around that very rough country with out the full use of my legs.
Driving down I5 from Mt. Shasta south I was still wanting some sort of fishing success. The Sacramento River glittered in the canyon below. It was late afternoon - fisherman's 'Happy Hour'. When I saw a good exit (Conant), I took it.
The Upper Sacramento, The Pitt and the McCloud are like three sisters. They share similar features. But, if you were to line them up for a family photo or if you were at a party with them, all eyes would fall on the McCloud. She exudes beauty and purity. The McCloud is, after all, one of the few rivers the area that did not suffer the corrosive effects of gold. Likewise much of it is still in private hands and is managed very carefully. Fishing either the Pitt or the Upper Sac is usually a second choice for me.
Though the wading conditions in the upper reaches of the Upper Sacramento River are much like the McCloud; the nature of the river changes south of Dunsmuir. It levels out and the banks are more apt to be lined with smaller boulders or even gravel. For me, in my challenged condition, this meant easier wading.
I started at the lower end of the beat at Conant and worked my way up. The lack of obstacles allowed me to maintain a rhythm of casting and wading - something I had not been able to do on the McCloud. Remembering that dark nymphs were productive on this river, I cinched on a black bead headed stonefly nymph. I began to catch small fish right away. By the time I was at the top of the second riffle they were getting bigger.
There, a pool is split by a giant boulder and the two legs of the divided current had pushed gravel into a wadeable bar in the center of the pool. Both sides are more than five feet deep - deep enough to hold fish. Buoyed by the river water I had little weight on my legs. I was catching fish and feeling no pain. Continuing to work my fly further in the slot my indicator paused. The fish I had on this time was big - really big. Slowly at first and then with more vigor he dashed about the pool - my line zipped through the water surface following the fish. Unable to shake my hook or break the line, eventually, decisively it turned to go downstream.
Light simple tackle and small barbless hooks make landing a big fish on a fly rod is a battle of wits and instinct. No two fish are alike. Some hooked some fish remain calm and deliberative, while others expend much energy in panicky runs and leaps, but when a big fish turns downstream, it as if the referee just called:
"Advantage Fish".
The added weight of the water pressure caused by the fish being downstream and the fact I had to follow made for a dynamic battle. The "following" part was particularly difficult. The slippery rocks underfoot threaten to trip me up at every instant. The fish went through two long riffles which was the equivalent of a football field of slippery rocks for me. Luckily, it held up few times en route and gave me a chance to catch up. Finally I could coax it to shore and release it. It was easily bigger than the Feather River steelhead I had brought to the McCloud; that was 19". It was definitely the largest fish I had ever caught on the Sacramento. In a flash, all the pain endured for the past few days became worthwhile.
"In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's mind there are few."* There is 'beginner's luck' in fishing, likewise to the experienced, resistance and challenge are often signs of proximity to good fortune and insight. If you sprain your ankle, brake your rod or loose your car keys in the river; there's a good chance the best fish you ever caught is, just dying to meet you.

* Susuki Roshi

About the pictures sent by friend Beckett:

more on thomson...if interested
as i remain uncertain as to whether or not you like thomson's paintings
but i trek forward with the interesting yet unsolved story of his demise
laters...jackie
Thomson disappeared during a [[canoe]]ing trip on [[Canoe Lake (Nipissing District, Ontario)|Canoe Lake]] in [[Algonquin Park]] on July 8, 1917 and his body was discovered in the lake eight days later. The official cause of death was accidental [[drowning]], but there are still questions about how he actually died. It was reported that there was fishing line wrapped around his leg seventeen times and he had a head injury (which may have been post mortem).{{Fact|date=May 2008}} It has also been speculated that he was murdered by a [[German-American]] neighbour, Martin Blecher, Jr., or that he fell on a fire grate during a drunken brawl with J. Shannon Fraser, owner of Canoe Lake's Mowat Lodge, over an old loan to Fraser for the purchase of canoes. Thomson allegedly needed the money for a new suit to marry Winnifred Trainor, whose parents had a cottage at [[Canoe Lake]]. Rumours circulated following his drowning that she was pregnant with Thomson's child. Winnifred Trainor made a trip to Philadelphia with her mother the following winter and returned around Easter. She never spoke about her relationship with Thomson. A nephew, Terrance Trainor McCormick, an upper New York resident who inherited her estate, which included at least 13 small Thomson paintings and letters, said the letters confirm their engagement. McCormick has refused to produce the letters for scholarly investigation. Others believe that Thomson, who produced at least 63 landscape paintings that last spring, many of which he gave away or discarded, suffered severe depression and drowned himself. He was buried at Canoe Lake in Algonquin Park on July 17, 1917, without family members having seen the body. Under the direction of his older brother, George Thomson, the body was exhumed two days later and re-interred in the family plot beside the Leith [[Presbyterian Church]] on July 21. None of these theories are conclusive, and the wide range of speculation serves mostly to perpetuate Thomson's romantic legend.Town and Silcox, page 208.
http://www.tomthomson.org/profile_gallery.php?ArtistID=1

Adverse 2, continue

2009-09-15T08:51:00.000-07:00

I stumbled eagerly over the slick bowling ball sized boulders to where Jack had been standing.
"Cast straight out to that bush and let your fly swing into the deeper water" he called out over the sound of the river.
"Right, OK. " I yelled back, then looked at the opposite. bank - It was full of bushes.
"The green one ", Jack clarified.
The green one ? Big help. They're all green. I kept casting then moved closer to where I had seen Jack standing. Casting to some slack water on the far side I could see a teeny splash where my fly landed in the smooth water. Immediately, I mended the line, moments later the faster water of the riffle pulled my line even with my fly and the whole rig drifted in a straight line into the head of the pool. The fly was, maybe, six inches below the surface when suddenly it went taunt. I pulled up, it stayed fixed and my rod double over then jerked over further. Fish on! Wow.
" You got 'em! ", Jack called. I moved downstream to land my fish in the calmer water of the pool. As Bill moved into place and began casting, I saw the bush on the bank and sure enough, it was GREEN!
Within a few casts Bill had a fish on. Success. Instantly all was forgiven; hard was easy, black was white. What followed was somewhat unique in fishing practices. The three of us shared the "Spot" in a kind of cooperative dance. We took turns wading in, casting out ten or twenty times, maybe catching a fish and then moving off. In between turns we would exchange stories at the bench. At this time, it became evident that Jack was here on his own and that he had hiked in. Not wanting to repeat the gruesome journey we had made on our way in; I asked him how he had gotten here. In answer he pointed to another bush and said,
"There's a trail that goes straight up to the road".
I went to look. Near where we had crawled in, was a small cave-like opening and a well worn trail led up the bank. Satisfied we had a graceful exit, I returned to the bench where Jack was explaining to Bill the dynamics of this particular fishing hole. He was telling Bill why he had faith in this spot like no other. His message was paradoxical and compelling.
"You see", he said, drawing a broad arc with his hand as he pointed to the sky down river, "By noon the sun has cleared those trees and all the fish that are moving up shelter in the pool. Then, by one o'clock, there's a good bunch of 'em in there, and, with the sun on their backs, they've got nothing to do but bite."
Now, the sun had dipped below the trees on the far side of the bank, their shadows were stretching across the pool. As if to add weight to his theory, Jack was packing to leave.
After all we had been through, we weren't about to quit. We watched as Jack ambled across the gravel bar and disappear into brush. He had given us the keys and left. Ash darkened sky quickly made afternoon evening. The smoke filled atmosphere was tense. We alternately fished and watched as the proximity of the fire made the animals of the forest act unusually bold. Despite what Jack had said there were still plenty of fish to be caught. Again, standing in contrast to our environment, we recreated playfully while all creation was ablaze. A deer bounded into the river and swam across just above us. Later, a bear slid down the bank and waded clumsily in water on the far side. Then,a snake curled black and white, black and white amongst the grey stones of the beach. There it was; Apocalypse Now, End of Days. Tall trees stood bravely and creatures were set in motion by an impending inferno. With the disaster of the great Biscuit Fire so close at hand, the whole scene was made, at once, magic and real by the sense of fragility and doom.

Fishing in Reverse

2009-07-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

There are second chances in life and fishing trips
This trip started when I left Petaluma 3 p.m. June 23rd. First stop would be 'The Washout' in Chico where it was reported some Shad were holding. I arrived at 7p.m. usually Shad Happy Hour. I fished until dark with out a bump. As I was leaving on River Road I passed a bunch of cars parked at a spot just up river. Where there are cars there are fishermen and fish. I had missed 'the spot' by about 300 yds.
Next stop, Sims campground on the Upper Sacramento. I arrived at about midnight and went to sleep planning to fish the morning hatch. The morning came and went but the hatch did not materialize.
I had two days before my rendezvous with Bill and Chris on the Deschutes. Ash Camp on the McCloud seemed the most logical next stop. But before leaving the area, with the aim of finding out why I had been skunked, I stopped at the Ted Fay Fly Shop . Steve informed me the river was fishing well; late afternoons and evenings. Dollar short day late.
I arrived at Ash Camp at about noon. A French film crew was making a documentary about the Nestle Company's plans to bottle the water from the area. Apparently, the French feel the same way about Nestle as many of us feel about Chevron. By 3p.m. I was ready to fish the McCloud.
I choose the second exit from camp on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). I arrived at 'Dead Guy's' hole by about 4 p.m. Right away I saw a big Golden Stone flutter past and noticed some fish rising against the rock wall on the river's opposite side.
For the next five hours I fished my way up river to the first trail. I had great success on drys. When I left the water it was late. A new moon was but a mere sliver and the forest exceedingly dark. The trail to PCT is not well defined. At numerous points I believed I was lost. I imagined myself building a lean-to, Survivor Man style, and waiting out the night. Ignoring panicky thoughts and following my intuition I picked my way through the trees and I found my way to the PCT. The campground was empty save one tent near Hawkins Creek. I was thankful to have the remote human company after a lonely hike back.
In the morning I met my neighbor (Troy). He was hiking the Pacific Crest Trail to Ashland. He told me of some interesting bear encounters he had. Also, that the French camera woman's purse and passport had been stolen while she was in camp the previous day - Sac Le Bleu !! sounds like an inside job to me. By evening I had reached La Pine campground just south of Bend. It was too late to fish the Fall River but the hot shower in camp felt good.
The following morning in Bend as I was visiting my show of artwork, checking my email and enjoying a triple latte at the Wall St. Starbucks Chris called. He was on his way from Eugene. That afternoon we met Bill on the Lower Deschutes at Beavertail.
We may have had the best camping spot on the Lower Deschutes but good fishing required a long hike or more driving. We did find good spots and caught a variety of fish. We all caught 'Redsides', the resident trout, I caught a Half Pounder and Chris and Bill hooked big steelhead.
During a side trip, I encountered a testament to man's ability to alter the environment in positive ways. Along the Route 97 there is a dead juniper tree. Passing travelers have thrown shoes and sneakers tried together by their laces on the branches. Move over Green Peace.
On my way back I stopped at Conant on the Upper Sac. This time it was evening and indeed there was fine hatch of PEDs so the fishing was good. The next day I had some business in Chico to attend and then managed to get on the Lower Sac by 3p.m. Of course I fished the area where I had seen all the cars parked on the way up and Fish On! End of story.

Home

2009-03-25T08:57:00.000-07:00

I had some paintings accepted in a show hosted at the George Segal Gallery at Montclair State University in New Jersey. It had been many years since I had been back to the place I was born. It was where I had spent the first eighteen years of my life and in a way I still consider Home. Thinking that this might be my last chance to connect with any remnants of my past life, I decided to go to the show.
My trip started at 4 a.m. when I began make my way to the local airport shuttle service. The jet had a GPS system integrated on entertainment monitors on the seat before every passenger. As the plane approaches the destination airport you can zoom in on the part of the earth you are flying over. Your experience of the world becomes enlarged as it is technologically compressed on screen before you. As the plane made its 6+ hr. flight from PDT to EDT, the monitor's tiny plane icon blinked, first over a digital representation of Nevada, then Utah, Colorado , Kansas and so on. As we approached Newark, our destination, the image zoomed in so that individual cities and local topography could be discerned. The jet flew over the Morristown/Mendham area. The GPS picked up the wave-like hills the glaciers had carved out 18,000 years ago and over which I had ridden my bike 50 years ago. The geographic landscape of my childhood was digitally depicted before me and this seemed to suit the underlining purpose our my journey well.
According to Tibetan theology there is a period of time in the bardo, after you die, that you can visit any place you can imagine. During this time you are not confined to laws of Time and Space. When you go to visit your childhood home or, anywhere else, it will be as it was when you lived it. If you linger, you are what is know as a "Hungry Ghost". The doctrine speaks to our tendencies to clinging attachment and the teaching is to keep moving and live your life to its fullest now.
I landed in Newark at about 4:30pm EST rented a car a began to negotiate my way to Essex Fells where I stayed with Ted and Martha Nevins. Ted was my dad's best and oldest friend. They first met in grade school. They went to Princeton together flew planes during WW2 together and Ted was still around when Dad died. For me, Ted showed me my father was a "regular guy". When Ted was around, the veneer of "Father" was peeled away from my Dad and I caught glimpses of a man with strengths and weaknesses. Above all, I saw a man who had a sense of humor. Ted's enduring presence also taught me the value of persistence in relationship - a lesson I continue to take to heart. Ted and Martha generously took me in, out and to the show. Ted made sure I got up in the morning in time to catch my flight and called me at the airport to make sure I had made it. It was a the very best way to visit the place I am from. A place where my roots are but echoes in the memory of Earth, where I am, now, mostly a stranger.
The opening for the show was was Saturday afternoon. As I entered the gallery. I was pleased to see my relatively heavy paintings had arrived safely and were displayed well. I had sent out postcards to people I knew were still in the area but had no idea who, if anybody, would show up. After the awards were announced ( I didn't win ) I took a walk around the campus. Upon reentering the gallery I heard my childhood name called. Karen is my cousin and I had not seen her for more than twenty-five years. I was a very young man when she acted as a surrogate big sister to me. Since I had no real older sister she acted as one to me when she graciously conferred the status as a "punk" little brother on me. When visiting her in Manhattan, Sausalito or San Francisco she demonstrated the excitement glamour of young adult life. At the same time managed to show a patient appreciation of my stabs at manhood - something of huge value for a young man seeking to understand the the mysteries of relations with the opposite sex.
The second phase of my trip consisted of a visit to my mother and my sister in Florida. The occasion was loosely for my mother's 88th birthday. There, in the presence of these two women I find another Home. There is something about "unconditional love" that turns me into a baby. Though I plan to act in a mature manner, I end up taking more than I give and my departure is probably felt as a relief. I was not an easy child for my mother, though I do think she took and still takes some pride in my existence. As a child, much of our time together was spent running to some Emergency Room. We visited the E.R. in every vacation spot from Bermuda to Canada and that was just the physical traumas. I also had my psychological ailments that needed attention as well. My presence in my sister's life likewise would not be considered comforting. Poor Liese endured the crueler aspects of my personality. When we were kids, at the dining room table, after teasing her to the point of tears, I would feel a sense of predatory accomplishment. And yet, though the years my sister and I remain very close and I have a regular need to talk with her.
Another place I feel home is near some of my favorite rivers. Of course this usually includes the act of fishing. Fishing is the format of the dialog I have with nature. When walking beside a river, I often think, why has it been so long since I have been here? Its like saying to a friend, "Why has it been so long since we talked?" I feel an intimate sense of being apart of something grander and more beautiful when I am fishing. It is much like being in love. The world seems to shrink into very simple elements. The sound of moving water, the myriad of color and texture brought about by reflection and transparency fills my senses. Of course at other times, like love, it can be a very lonely place. Like love, this has to do with expectations. Now, that I am an nearly an old man, I am more willing to see the value of failure. In Love and Fishing it is failure that reminds you of life's true objective.
My dear sister knows how I feel about water and fishing and arranged with her significant other (Randy) to take me out on an exploration of Fakahatchee River ( the indigenous people had a way with words ) in the Ten Thousand Island area of Florida's West Coast. Randy expertly navigated our way through the mangrove islands over sand bars and under low hanging branches. We maneuvered our way up to what is considered the Big Lake, 8 miles from the marina. Then we worked our way back, checking the the Fish Finder for deep holes and fish. The Red Mangrove Snappers were mostly bait thieves but fun when you could hook them. When we hooked one catfish, we hooked fifteen. Eventually we realized we were in a "bad neighborhood" and that wherever one slimy, spiky, belching catfish was, no other more desirable fish would reside. At the mouth of a narrow mangrove channel the Fish Finder depicted a deep hole with lots of dark spots suspended above the the bottom. First we caught a few small Snook then Randy hooked and landed a nice Black Drum. He was holding it, considering dinner, when we both hooked two bigger fish. Mine was a Lady Fish and Randy had another Snook. During the excitement, somehow the Black Drum found its way back into the water. The channel was about fifteen feet wide and we were drifting down it when we heard a large splash around the bend. It sounded like someone had dropped anchor but there weren't any other boats around. "Tarpon!" we both said in unison. We were still getting numerous bites so we continued to fish where we were. When I lost a lure to a big Snook I tied on a silver Wabbler and cast down in the direction we were drifting. The Tarpon hit my lure with a huge jolt and rushed back around the bend. Near the bank in a bramble of mangrove branches we saw it jump shining very silvery, about three feet long, and then it was off. The entire day we had only seen one other human; someone who look as part of the environment is the mangroves. Randy said he was a Crabber.
The meaning and importance of Home is most clearly understood when we feel its absence. When young I suffered what is now called "Separation Anxiety". At the time, when asked, "How do you feel ?" I would reply, "Homesick". The first severe episode was in the third grade. I became so emotionally fragile that I could not attend school. Every school day was pure Hell. I was old enough to know that I was expected to be able to attend school like my peers. The emptiness I felt was as tangible as a lead weight. Though I was physically healthy, emotionally, I had not the strength to live. Anyone who has felt this way understands. This is not an ailment you can see, like a broken leg, but is just as debilitating. It is of interest to me now, as I reflect on the meaning of Home, that my third grade mind ( my 'Beginner's Mind' ) identified the source of my ailment as having something to do with Home. My young mind, when searching for the source of my ailment, found something was missing. What was it that was missing? What is it, as adults, that we are expected to provide for ourselves and our children but often are unable? What is it that we call Home?
Last night I was offered an insight. We watched a movie about an Indian woman in London and her desire to return home after 20 years. The movie's lush images of a tropical Indian village of the woman's past contrasted with the cold gritty streets of her present life in London. There was longing depicted in her eyes as she relived her past life. She understood the home she had known was no more yet, she could not let go of her desire to return. Her attachment memories of the past made her a 'Hungry Ghost' in life. When, unexpectedly, the unattainable became attainable (returning home) the illusory Home lost its grip and she realized Home was within her grasp. Later, Laurie and I reflected on the movie we had seen. We talked about what Home was to us, our sons, the house, our dog, deferred maintenance, mortgage, neighbors, garden .... Then after a brief silence she said, "Home is not a place you can go. It is something you keep inside." The only thing I might add is: Home is something you take with you everywhere you go - even to those places you once called Home.

2009-02-14T09:23:00.000-08:00

Here are some responses from my letter to the editor,

From Chris Vogel,
i know bit about ladders on small rivers/streams...the early designs were intended to get adults up stream. But now NOAA fisheries requires ladders designed for juvenile passage (something to the tune of a 9" jump requirement). There is a lot of research that supports to need for juveniles to migrate upstream (or down) to seek better habitat.

The cases i have seen where fish ladders were an option but lost was due to $, they cost a ton of money to construct on already constructed dams. And in most cases the mitigation requirements for the loss of fish habitat has already been achieved by trap/haul methods and other mitigation projects.

From Tom Lane

Hey Jim,
The guy that responded to your editorial by saying that man is an endangered species is an idiot. Obviously he hasn't driven down 101 through Santa Rosa at rush hour in the last decade. Had he done so , he might have noticed a nasty little case of over population that probably wouldn't be a good idea to perpetuate. But his mind is so small it has trouble digesting these realities which may be contributing to the tiredness that he seems to be experiencing. I think he should consult his physician as soon as possible.
Any how, Charlie was sorely tempted to commit crimes against this fish but I stopped him. We all remember what happened last time he got a hold of a big fish. ----Tom

From Lawson Evans
Responding to Wes Starratt’s rebuttal to Jim Vogel's Jan. 24 article "Fixing man-made damage" concerning Nicassio Dam.

I applaud and support Jim Vogel’s efforts at restoring Marin’s native fish population. It is my understanding that the water from Nicasio Reservoir has only been used once in the public water system in the fifty years since Nicasio Creek was dammed. So Wes Starratt’s argument that this dam makes it possible for us to live here in California has almost no validity. Personally, I think a natural creek is far more beautiful than the Nicasio Dam and man is not an endangered species.

Let’s open our minds to either removing the dam or putting in a fish ladder to re-establish the natural fish population.

Let’s set a good example in our own backyard.

Lawson Evans DDS

Editorial Marin IJ

2009-01-31T10:27:00.000-08:00

My editorial concerning Nicasio Creek appeared in the Marin County Independent Journal January 24th. It read :

Just last month many of our areas newspapers ran articles bemoaning the immanent loss of many species of fresh water fish in California. In particular the declining numbers of trout and salmon were mentioned. As a person who loves to fish this information is particularly alarming to me. In response to this "wake up" call I look for possible causes and remedies to this bleak scenario in my immediate vicinity..

The practice of dam removal is a relatively new concept in mankind's response to his environment. It is indicative in a big shift in values.

Consider the commitment of time and resources that go into the construction of a dam; it takes an equally monumental reversal of energies to remove a dam. All decisions, especially ones as concrete as a dam, gain the powers inherent in inertia as time goes on. Like cultural customs so easily seen as destructive by those outside the realm of those societies practicing those customs, it is difficult for us to see our own self-destructive tendencies in spite of the overwhelming evidence. Many of these dams were built with a "conquer the wilderness " mind-set that is no longer relevant or desirable. The full consequences of the construction of these dams was not predictable, and their effectiveness (or lack thereof) not foreseen.

From what I have read in the historical reports, in the late nineteen fifties the town of Nicasio was far from united in the their desire for the construction of the Seeger Dam. The purposes of the dam were vague and speculative and the effectiveness unknown-and yet it was pushed through! Now, as we see the once plentiful population of steel head and salmon cascade toward extinction, we can see the true cost of our practice of damming rivers and creeks (see Wikipedia: 'Nicasio Reservoir' ). Though it would be preferable from to standpoint of restoring the andromonous fish population to West Marin, perhaps the removal of the Seeger Dam is too great a step. There are other effective alternatives. Fish ladders do work. If Casa Grande High School can find the funding to build a state of the art fish hatchery on Adobe Creek perhaps the people of Marin can find a way to stop wasting the resourceful potential of Nicasio Creek.

At this point 50 years later, we can clearly calculate for good or ill, the true effects of the Seeger Dam. We need to ask whether we can continue to afford to waste our natural resources.

Should we not consider taking steps that would restore the salmon and steel head habitat that was destroyed with the construction on the Seeger Dam?
James Vogel, Petaluma

Up to now the editorial has received ONE comment. It read :

Tam's dams are needed

Responding to Jim Vogel's Jan. 24 letter in Saturday's Soapbox, "Fixing man-made damage," I am getting pretty tired of those people out there who complain about the very dams that make it possible for us to live in California.

Without those beautifully engineered dams on the north slopes of Mount Tamalpais, for example, we would not have sufficient water to live in Marin County period.

And without those beautifully engineered dams throughout the West, we could not live in a region with five months of rain and seven months without rain. We would not have the water to drink nor the water to raise our crops, which feed much of the country.

Let's also consider "man" an endangered species and realize how vital dams are for our very survival.

Sure, let's do what we can for the survival of the fish, but with a growing population in California, we are going to need more, not fewer, dams, which also provide one of our most reliable sources of nonpolluting "green power."

Wes Starratt, SAN RAFAEL

Well, I could use some help. Its easy. Reference my editorial (date, name etc.) & send your comments to:

opinion@marinij.com

Vanny Fishes SRJC

2008-12-28T11:31:00.001-08:00

I took a welding class at the local J.C.
I learned the following:
1. Old dogs can learn new tricks if they have the pity of a good teacher.
2. Its good to have a friend in class.
3. College girls are still beautiful.
4. Unrelated to #3., I still like to play with fire.

1.

2003 revisited

2008-12-19T07:37:00.000-08:00

Vanny Fishes West Marin

2008-11-23T12:44:00.000-08:00

Present site of the Holy Grate.
Some pics of my commute to Lucas Valley Road.

Vanny fishes the city 2

2008-10-19T08:37:00.000-07:00

Some pictures of the "Gala Opening":

http://www.mesart.com/reflections.of.bay.shtml

Holy Found

2008-09-26T08:43:00.000-07:00

We did it! It all went pretty smooth. The most difficult parts were finding the Pizza place the night before and, locating the grate on the river bank. It had been nearly 6 months since I had seen it and things changed - mostly in my mind but partly on the bank. Everyone played a vital role. Thanks to NJ for his incredible navigational skills in getting the truck to the Pizza place, Will and Lawson were expert co-pilots on the barge keeping it in the current and riding it through the rapids in the 48 degree water. The middle tube popped as soon as we loaded the grate on - Tate's enthusiastic and persistent energy were of importance as he took charge of pumping the leaky tube as he was riding the grate barge.
Friendship, family, the Milky Way and spawning salmon - holy found.
Thanks to all those that lent support in the forms of energy, moral support and creative interest. This would include:
Laurie, Jackie, W.M.'Bear' Vogel, Tate, Will, NJ and that guy on the bank that wanted to know what the hell we were doing.

1. The location2. Breakfast at base camp3. Ready up

4. The Trek

5.False Grate found

6. True Grate Revealed

7. The Doctor's Disclaimer8. Launch!9. Yeahooooo

10. Loaded !!!!

To see map of the trail we followed view complete Blog @ "Travels with Vanny" go to :
http://fishemail.blogspot.com/

In Search of the Holy Grate

2008-09-19T12:31:00.000-07:00

Lawson, Tate, Will, N.J.:
Here are some maps and pictures of the upcoming riparian adventure. On the map shown here, the red dot indicates base camp,green dot is where the unclaimed masterpiece lays and blue line is our proposed route (see pic).
We will meet Friday night 9/12 at the Pizza place in Browns Valley on E21 of off Hwy 20 between Grass Valley and Marysville. That night we will camp along the river ( see red dot). You will need pretty good hiking shows that you don't mind getting wet.
The objective is to hike up the river Saturday and float down ( barge like) the big piece of metal shown in the picture to my vehicle. My vehicle will be parked somewhere near the red dot. I have some inner tubes and rope I think will work. I think I have thought of most everything but something unexpected is bound to happen. Ideas and 'comments from the peanut gallery' are always taken into consideration. Your help and enthusiasm are essential and greatly appreciated.

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Vanny Fishes the City

2008-09-14T00:46:00.000-07:00

1. The view from Divisadero

2. Five cents a minute

3. Some ladies hanging around the gallery.

4. The view from the gallery.

5. View of G.G. Bridge.

6. Headed home.

To view complete Blog or subscribe to "Travels with Vanny" go to :
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Art Q correction

2008-09-11T11:26:00.000-07:00

Date is 9/19. I just put in 9/12 to throw off the feds and the papparazzi

Art Quest 2

2008-09-11T09:11:00.001-07:00

Art Quest 1

2008-09-08T10:46:00.001-07:00

The Yuba River, like all of the rivers that flow into the Sacramento ( except the McCloud ) has been torn up by the mining companies. Originally these companies sought gold but more lately the the gravel is mined for the production of cement. With the operating criteria of "production" and "cost effectiveness" much of the equipment is left in the river when it is no longer serviceable. This industrial material gets washed and beaten over the years as the river integrates it into the riparian habitat. Big 3" steel cables buried menacingly in gravel bars and huge spikes driven into great granite boulders attest to the ferocity of mankind. Likewise the degraded condition of these artifacts leaves no doubt to the superior power of time and nature. I have long been fascinated by these pieces of metal for the stories they hinted at. Recently I have begun to see them as more than just snags and stumbling blocks. The pictures in this post illustrate my first retrieval of one of these contextually rich and physically interesting pieces of metal. The one shown in these pictures has been twisted by a great force, whether it be man or nature, is the stuff of speculation. As an artist I see the form as an expression of violent power and the challenge for me is in the presentation. There is another, more intact, with just the sign of many years of oxidation; I plans to collect in September.
see Art Quest 2

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Sonoma Coast in August

2008-08-25T07:02:00.000-07:00

Pictures are of: Mouth of Russian River, Mahamudra Center in Point Arena, View of Ocean from Center, Kempo, Gualala River at HWY 1 bridge.

Going to the Republican Convention (revisited)

2008-08-09T08:09:00.000-07:00

Yes, its true! I have been invited to go to St. Paul for the the Republican Convention. Unfortunately, they will only let met get within 10 blocks of the Xcel Convention Center.
Though I will not be personally going, my work will be on display at the nearby AZ Gallery, 308 Prince Street St. Paul, MN.View Larger Map">
I created this piece in 2003, during the build-up to the Iraq War. It is a portrait of my T.V. the day after President Bush's State of the Union Address. In this speech, the President delivered the infamous "16 Words". My painting depicts Ari Fleisher at the White House press conference.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20081219/ap_on_go_co/iraq_cia
Peace

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Bluebacks

2008-08-04T07:18:00.000-07:00

Earlier post from C.V.:

I just stumbled across the first definition I have ever seen of "bluebacks"

"Then someone made a comment that the fish was a blueback. In this neck-of-the-woods, a blueback refers to a steelhead that has a bluish back, as opposed to its typical mint-green back. A blueback's scales actually sparkle like blue sapphires when the sun strikes it a certain way – no exaggeration!

In steelhead nomenclature, bluebacks signify the end of the run, which normally occurs sometime in late February or March, the bluebacks usually running less than 10 pounds. But this fish, being as large as it was immediately brought back memories of the beginning of last year's run, which started out with a lot of large bluebacks as well."

Complete Story:

http://www.currypilot.com/news/story.cfm?story_no=16347

Our rivers are up around here, nothing crazy like up north; but enough to make for some excitement! Hope all is well - Chris

Be a better friend, newshound, and know-it-all with Yahoo! Mobile. Try it now.

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Word from the Deshutes

2008-07-26T08:40:00.000-07:00

Hi Jim,

It was a lot of fun. There were quite a few 6-8 lb. natives in the
river and I managed to hook one about a mile below the Rattlesnake Rapid
on the west bank. It's a wonderful stretch of the river because you can
wade easily quite far into the river on the basalt. It's about an
hour or more walk from the car so that weeds those without heart. I
almost skipped the spot to continue working down to the woman I was fishing
with that evening. But it looked fishy - an apparently deep slot a
short distance downstream from a rock. I had barely been in the water; on the first cast fish on... Sure enough the Freight Train... I did not take
a picture, because I sort of man handled the fish and wanted to release
safely. I did take pictures of the river and a couple of other items I
found on the trip (see attached). The only drawback to the lower
river is the pretty high number of fishers - many gear fisherman - as well
as fly fishers most of whom had spey rods.
Two public comments:
1. If you see someone fishing ask if you can "step in" either above or below
them depending on whether they are steelhead or trout fishing with a
fly. For steelhead fishing you step in above the person already fishing;
for trout the opposite applies. All bets are off with gear fishers,
although the ones we encountered were amiable enough.
2. I'm never skunked "catching" all the debris people lose or leave
behind in rivers. This year alone I've found a nice cutting tool (I'll send a picture over the weekend) and those pliers (the "keepers") not to mention all the line, leader and monofilament.Imagine if every fisher just picked up one item they could easily carry...

Tight Lines,
Susan S.

Third Time Charm

2008-07-13T09:09:00.000-07:00

This year I had the privilege to fish the McCloud 3 times in the beginning of the season. By far the best fishing I had was the the third time.
It was the first of July and the Fly Shop bulletin warned the water agency was playing with the flows; some days it would be too high to fish. I got to Ash Camp at 8p.m. with the intention of fishing the the following day. Morning arrived I met my neighbor in the site next to mine. He reiterated the warning of the erratic flows and added that he had seen 2 rattle snakes and a bear had been in the back of his truck last night. Parr for the course. I got my gear and self ready to fish by noon. There were few people in the camp site so I was confident I would have the river pretty much to myself. Crossing over the foot bridge and hiking down The Pacific Crest Trail I took the the first exit to the river.
As soon as I reached the river's edge I saw a fish rise. From then (about 2p.m ) until dark multiple hatches of P.E.D.s, Golden Stones and caddis flies increased. As the number of flies on the water increased the number of fish rising to them did too. By dusk it was a frenetic blizzard of bugs and splashing fish. As Al Swearengen would say, "It was fucking great" - too bad they can't put that on the board at The Fly Shop.
The next day the flows were up again. I was off to put some pictures at The Brown Trout Gallery in Dunsmuir and home.

Big Bugs on the Deschutes

2008-07-04T08:45:00.000-07:00

I met Bill on the Upper Deschutes on Thursday. He had gotten there the day before and had success in stalking and catching a beautiful Brook Trout (see last pic). We fished the river around Cow Meadow. Last year there had been an intense hatch of Pale Evening Duns and, as a result, I had a good success with spinners. That had been late July. This year Spring had been late and we were early. Aside from Bill's fish, mosquitoes and otters were the most exciting thing happening on the river. After a day and great blood loss we moved on to the lower river.
Bill had heard that we might encounter the tail end of the salmon fly hatch. This report was seconded when we stopped into The Patient Angler Fly Shop in Bend to get an update and have our wallets lightened. Pumped up with new flies and novel ways of catching fish we left the shop and headed for the town of Madras. Then a little further on 97 North and a dirt road along the river brought us to Mecca Flat, the forefront of the hatch of Salmon and Golden Stone Flies.
The most sought after 100 square feet of real estate at Mecca Flat is not a campsite; it is the one lone tree that provides the only shade in the campground. The camping challenge is to find a place to kick back during the hot and intensely bright sunny afternoons between one and four. It was a relief not to have to battle the mosquitoes of the Upper Deschutes but the sun and the wind provided ample conversational material for domestic complaint.
It wasn't until the second night, when I received information from some folks from Portland, that I began to catch fish. First I happened upon Evan as he was landing an 18" fish. He had been flipping a Hare's Ear in the current behind a fallen tree. Then later, as the sun had begun to set I saw fish leaping and jumping as it was being landed downstream from me. A nice young lady in a smart straw hat called, " Little yellow mayflies", as she passed by to fish up stream. I had been fixated on the big big stone flies I had seen flying and floating by. Though the sun had gone down, there was still too much light for the big patterns to fool the fish. It was not until later, when it was almost dark, that the fish were fooled by the size 2 and 4 artificial dry flies.
Later, I on my way back to camp I stopped at a camp. It was the party from Portland including Evan, Susan and "One Fly Fiji". Over beer and snacks we all exchanged stories and information collected during the day.
Bill and I stayed another two days. In which time I caught my biggest fish on a big golden stone nympth fly I had found in a tree, a few weeks earlier, on the McCloud. we had a great lunch at The Deschutes Crossing Restaraunt, witnessed a magnificent thunder storm drench the desert, fished in a lightning storm and viewed some of Oregon's unique scenery.

Art Show in Bend

2008-06-06T06:11:00.000-07:00

Drove to Bend via the Upper Sac., Brown Trout Gallery, Chris, Shadeen, Lou, lots of snow, the Deshutes and finally Starbucks on Wall Street. Came back via the McCloud Dave and Tom the Lower Sac. in search of Shad and yet higher gas prices.
Some of my favorite ruminations along the way were: Bush"s failure was the failure of people like me. People that grew up in a privileged setting that did not need to tend to the details. People who could have the good idea and have some one else execute it. People that didn't need to clean their rooms. Another thought was to write a book about my mother. Then my encounters with patriotic symbols such as Bald Eagles and flags and the lack of resonance these symbols have in my psyche. And finally my thoughts concerning "The War on Terror" and how this seems such a cheap labeling trick. I mean when you have a country (USA) declare "war" on another country (Iraq) one tenth the size of itself; that's like me declaring "War" on the gofers in my garden.

The Body Earth

2008-05-29T10:02:00.000-07:00

This post sucks.
I am trying to resolve the apparent fact that acting in a humane manner is actually shortsighted and self-destructive. I can't seem to shake the idea that the terrible disasters which befall humanity are actually good for the planet, and ultimately humanity itself. The Body Earth is infected with a virus called Humanity. Global warming is the Body Earth's reaction to a deadly virus. In the past Mother Earth cleansed herself of this virulent sickness (humanity) with Ice or Plague but now the virus may have the upper hand.

Arthur C. Clark's monolith is found on the tectonically static surface on the moon. There inscribed in long forgotten symbols is a description of forbidden fruit; it is black and slippery. We call it oil. But the earth was doomed before the internal combustion engine. Doomed even before the birth of humanity; because we are not other than the earth. Just as the earth is not other than the sun. The sun is of the stars and we all are but stardust.
Here are some questions I am trying to resolve:
What is my carbon footprint? Every step I take is a carbon step. It is not greed or some other evil impulse that has led us to this eve of destruction. Unless the quest for self-elucidation is evil. How many of us would be willing to live strictly within daylight hours? The expression of humanity itself is carbon generative. In that quest, even in its infancy, are the seeds of self destruction.
We know that the presence of humanity in great numbers brings about the destruction of the planet. What blindness do we suffer which impels us to save our fellow man-despite the preponderance of evidence that we would be better off without so many of him. What is the quality of shortsighted self-destruction we value so much.
When a great disaster befalls an intensely populated part of the earth should we not count our blessings? Should we not see it as stroke toward the greater good of planetary balance and health? Can we deny our secret emotional alliance with Scrooge when he dares say: " .... the sick, they should hurry up and die and decrease the excess population."?
But where is our "brave" speech when someone close to us is threatened or, God forbid, it is our own lives that are in the balance. Do we then see the benefit that one less soul ( our own) will have upon the planet. No! It is unfair and unjust that we should die so soon or without fulfilling the the promise of our lives. But what about all those hundreds of thousands other people that were just washed away. Didn't their lives also have promise? Or at the very least, aren't they allowed the same attachment to their lives we have to ours? Well, thankfully we did not know any of those people so, in that case, its one for our side or, the planet's side, hee...hee.
But wait! What to do now...the end is upon us; you and most importantly me. Oh God! This this not fair; I was supposed to live a full life. Now it appears to fullness of my life is the diminution of the planet and thereby the diminution of my prospects as well. What a drag, I'm beginning to feel inhibited. Everything I do costs something to the planet. What happened to all those phony scientist and talk show hosts that were telling us there was no "Global Warming". Oh Jesus, even Bush, the world's greatest provider of misinformation, lies and regressive philosophies now is admitting there is a problem. Where is a human to hide? And talk about regressive philosophies; what about the Catholic Church? Who do you think is a cause of greater pollution - Exon Mobile or the Pope? Well, do the math and consider cause and effect in the equation.
What price is our humanity. Is our humanity indeed in conflict with our own best interests. Can we afford to feed the hungry, save the poor, express our humanity. Would it not be better to let those in need die, and when we are also in need, die quickly ourselves. Of what use can we be when we are old in diapers expressing nothing but shit, piss and methane. Of what price humanity-and who will pay ?
And yet more questions and a few answers:
Who does pay ? Who has always paid ? When family Homininae slaughtered family Elephantidae in Siberia and North America, who paid ? Was it the Woolly Mammoth that paid for the perpetuation of humanity? What did the mammoths get for it and the bigger question - was it a good deal for the planet? Has the human family ever been a good deal for the planet ? Other families have found a way of enhancing the planet. Their lives contribute to the betterment of others. The family Canidae contribute to the herds of deer they hunt by thinning out their old and sick and preventing the herds from overgrazing. In turn what they leave is food for smaller animals and eventually birds and finally worms. The wolf's life is integral to the health of its environment. And trees, who can deny the helpful nature of trees. But we humans, it seems, would prefer to give nothing back. We would even sequester our dead bodies from anything that might find them useful. Who do we think we are? What do we think we are? And if we are not who we think we are; then will not someone or something will pay for our ignorant behavior?
Are we humans really so unique? If we reduce this question to simple parts, as in the actions of the Homininae toward the Elephantidae 6000 years ago, perhaps we can extract the essence of our place in the universe. At that point it would seem we were not so different from our animal cousins. At first glance a tribe of humans would look much like a pack of dogs. But there were differences. Or were there? We need to exclude intentions and tactics because those were close to, or the same as, our canine brothers. Anthropologist like to point the manufacturing of tools or the walking on two legs as the dividing line between man and beast. Other scientists say the basis for of humanity lies in brain size I'm not talking about fire and basic tools because those were effects not causes and we can see by the histories of stone age men acquisitions of those attributes did not tip the environmental balance. So what is the difference between a stone age man and a woolly mammoth? For that matter whats the difference between modern man and an amoeba ? Well for one, we outsmarted the woolly mammoth but on the other hand there are some one celled creatures that have come close to doing us in. Then what is it that makes us different; what makes us so destructive compared to the rest of life on this planet?
A good question for cosmologists is: How long does it take a fertile planet (a planet that can initiate and sustain life) to produce intelligent life? And then the likely follow up question is: how long before that planet self destructs? But the first question should be : What is Intelligent Life? How do you define intelligent life? I would propose that it has to do with thought. Specifically the ability to see thought as other than self. The distance between thought and self in a life form is the difference between reaction and responsibility. Of life on this planet, humans are the only beings that possess this ability, that is what makes us unique. The fact that we don't all exercise this ability is a form of ignorance. This is why in the Mahamudra tradition Human life is considered: Precious. Human life is an opportunity and the opportunity is very close at hand. It is as close as your next thought.

We tend to believe there is a difference between life and matter. When Einstein realized there was no absolute difference between energy and matter we failed to see the ramifications this had on our concepts of life. The physicists were at the lecture but the biologists were out to lunch. So what we have is: Energy Matter Life (L) Intelligence (I) and of course THE SPEED OF LIGHT (C2). Those are the basics right?

E = MC2
E=D
D = L + IC2

The reason I can still get away with this reckoning is that Intelligence has not figure a way to infuse life into matter therefore, as of yet, Life remains as pure a concept as energy, matter or THE SPEED OF LIGHT. By the way E ( energy) is the same as destruction (D) because when matter is destroyed when it becomes energy.
Is not the true measure of a footprint the effect that footprint, carbon or otherwise. Who's actions create the greater amount of carbon in the long run - the Big Oil executive that commutes to work in an SUV or the guy that helps to save a thousand people in Myanmar? Environmentalism has become the new religion with every bit as much irrational arbitrary belief and ritual as any other religion. Is the humane nature in humanity its ultimate downfall. If our goal is to save the planet, will we not need to examine all our impulses - even the ones we think of as noble. If we truly wanted to be effective at saving the planet, wouldn't the best way be to bomb China and India back to the stone age then conquer Brazil and make the Amazon Basin a big national park. Then,crush all the cars in America and Europe and outlaw any artificial light. That might work; but I don't think we would be ready when the asteroid heads our way.
All religions have origins. When we trace the origin of Environmentalism we find the Jainism the Indian spiritual , religious, philosophical tradition that dates to 9Th century B.C. Because Jains believe that everything is alive, in some sense, and that many beings possess a soul, great care and awareness is required in going about one's business in the world. Jainism is a religious tradition in which all life is considered worthy of respect and it emphasises this equality of all life, advocating the protection of the smallest creatures. Jainism encourages spiritual independence (in the sense of relying on and cultivating one's own personal wisdom) and self-control