Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Tough little bugger........

This was the smile I got just before his surgery started. It's a little too much to digest, even 10 days later. To hell and back is a phrase that seems apt. Thanks to all the good docs that put him back together. It was that close, it really was.......here he is just a little while back.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Looking at the lines.

Almost bowled over by girls barely in control of their rides, not unlike being mowed down by kooks....... just not soft-tops, more along the lines of 600lbs of sweaty beast.

Man!! How did I forget the whales breaching as they hunted the schools of herring. Repeatedly leaping for 45 minutes, so close to shore. I hardly ever see that much activity around here, they must have been scoring large!

N2m made an offering of rocks to the zen garden. Those little ones on top of the stump and we got an afternoon of fun surf in front of these lines below. A few hours of smooth and sunny walls, just 3 then 6 people, I'm still beat. No booties and a 3/2....

Is this evidence of the earthquake 300 years ago? Trees died in swamps created in minutes, everything changed for those who survived. Old trails disappeared, what was 30' above sealevel was now in the sea. From these shores a tsunami was spawned that hit the Eastern Pacific that many years ago. The literate Japanese kept the record on parchment. It is kept orally by Indians here.

A little pebble fall, just seconds long with a soft soundtrack stopped me in my tracks, the wall is still moving.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

High noon..... or a little past five.

Some people are destined for conflict. They could avoid it, but that never happens does it? Tim was agitated and nervous as observer while we fished. Pat and I were not up to speed on this the first day of fish derby, it was still just a regular fishing expedition on a new river for us. Complete with the corny jokes and quips we threw at each other as we have at various times for the last 25 years. Except for Tim who made it clear that he was going to wipe us and the rest of the competition out with his super fishing mojo.

He had tied probably 40 flies just for this river and his ego had him convinced he hadn't missed a single one that would bring the fish in. Pat fished hard and well(he has taught me the little I have managed to retain about this art called fly fishing), but toward the end of the day Tim had no problem saying as Pat worked a little overhang of brush.... "There are 40 fish in there!! You just aren't seeing them man, tomorrow I'll pull them all out there!"

Shortly thereafter we released him from his hell as observer and he sped off back to town fully amped for the following day when his abilities would blow us all away.
Well, as can be expected in these situs, the fish abandoned their posts wherever Tim fished the next 2 days and his numbers were in the dismal to poor range. Resulting in quicker post ups in the saloon and a darker countenance by days end.

Why he stopped fishing in the early afternoon of the last day is now (lo these many days later) lost in the fog of trout-war. Maybe a tributary was trespassed upon or the dreaded 2 fish mortality rule was invoked and he was red carded like Thierry at the World Cup? Who really knows? But following some angry words with the derby director, the saloon had it's early bird perched on a stool and in a foul state of mind well before his usual time.

LD the director was putting on a feed for the end of the evening.He and his 3 boys were bringing in food through the back of the restaurant, blocking the doorway sat a jeep. Now this is a small town as you may have guessed already, everyone knows who drives what and probably where they drive most of the time.

So off went the 3 lads to find the owner of the jeep and get it moved out of the way so they could unload the food and prepare it for the dinner. Nobody at the restaurant claimed the vehicle, next door at the general store the same luck so off to the saloon they went. Repeated requests of ownership were met with shrugs but no keys were jingled.

Nothing to do but work around the obstacle and so they went to the task at hand. A couple of hours later right around 5p.m., as they sat outside smoking here came Tim from the saloon and right toward the jeep. What followed was right out of the wild wild west of old.

The oldest of the brothers asked or stated, depending on your hearing "Hey! You drive that fucking jeep!?" Tim's response was something along the lines of "You fucked me on the derby so fuck you!"
Things got worse from there as the conversation got even more heated, I'll spare you reading the other f-bombs.......

But at some point Tim's good sense overtook his temper and he backed away from an obviously losing proposition of taking these 3 on (he would have a hard time justifying taking on 1 of them truth be told!) but not being content with small victories he flashed a gun as he settled in the jeep. Aaah this was just the red flag the bulls needed. The oldest brother, a man in his early 40's is back from a 3rd tour in the Mess In Potamia and is a sniper by trade. Used to the violence of a real war, he seemed to know the empty threat he was staring down.

He more than once invited Tim to get out and take a shot, an offer Tim now ever more unsure of his actions wisely ignored. The others were just as vocal in their wish for Tim to leave the car. Finally realizing that his only way of winning this battle was to put the vehicle into reverse and to leave town as quickly as possible, he did just that. A cloud of dust curling under the tires and a chorus of jeers tailed his departure for the safety of home.

Shaking their heads and pulling out new smokes the 3 settled back onto the bench, muttering of ass kickings.........

Friday, August 3, 2007

Hidden away ............

The river held it's own secrets. A lovely corner in the upper reach, cut and dammed by beavers faded into the hills slowly and gracefully through a marshy area. Their work gave fish some holding water......

In the heat of the day tucked safely off the main stream and therefore by rule unfishable, the 3rd zone fisherman found the school of 60 or 70 fish hiding in the beaver cut. Not hiding really, they lay there unperturbed except for the rustling of bank grasses that would startle them into movement. A little time and they would return and restack themselves, one atop another like cord wood.

Photos: by PK.

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Smooth like butter.

The Oregon coast is gorgeous on days like this. Add in a good bit of warm water and a host of friends in the water and it becomes pretty magical. This was the Friday session I think, mid arvie if I remember correctly. My friend Kevin is not a surf photographer, but he took some fun looking shots anyway.

Looks like Sylas flowing into a little wall below....... his first self shaped board is an ugly beast, the eye down the rail line will get him to giggling at it's ripples. But he has a smooth style that belies the inconsistencies of the board underfoot.

Fishing Part 2

24 fishermen from all over the state. LD being the organizer is a rail of a man, but endless energy and fish stoke keep him anchored to the desert floor. Always looking for balance between what people want and knowing that compromise is what we all end up with.

His ideal for this little stream is a fishery the rival of any in the north west, shared by the ranchers who own the hills and stream sides and anglers. He believes.

City and country fly fishermen intermingle, each day somebody gets to observe another group. There is still the subtle sense between east and west-siders that we play for different teams, but we all fish with the same passion. A healthy stream seems a decent place to find common ground.

This rock hides a few big boys in it's shadows......

Some of the teams had a classic member or two if they were lucky. One of my favorites was the guy in the blue wife beater tee, a size too small. He is deathly afraid of snakes and carried a gun to allay his fears, in addition to the snake proof gaiters manufactured from Kevlar. Oh did I mention it was a .357? Loaded with hollow points? For rattlers! Are you serious? Fear is marvelous tool for creating an exaggerated response.

Next; "High Noon" in the street.

The deep spot between us...

This little stream of water is the boundary line between the inside and the outside section when the the tide is in a bit more.

The crucifiction pose. On the inside roundy. Photo:KevinP