Travels with Vanny

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.

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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.

Good Buddhist Bad Buddhist

2008-06-23T06:51:00.000-07:00

For much of my adult life I have studied the teachings of Buddha. I have found them to shed light on my temporal existence. Because I value these teachings, I have sought to embody them. Lama Thapkay has said "Save one and you save the the the world" and Suzuki Roshi said something like "Pick up a pebble and you pick up the universe." These quotes are relevant to this story because it occurs in a small personal part of my world - my garden. Lately, I found insight in something that occurred in my garden. As a result it has become clear to me, more exactly, who I am.
I built a raised bed garden in the yard beside our house. Its one of the few places on our lot that gets a good amount of sun. In fact, in this spot, we even get enough sun to grow lettuce in the winter. We live in Sonoma County. Its one of the best places in the world to grow things. That fact Luther Burbank set up shop here and more people suffer from plant allergies here than any where else in the world, supports this fact. Gardening in this area is a slam dunk, or so I thought.
Over the years my gardening practices and methods have evolved. My current gardening practice includes a raised bed built out of pieces of concrete from a demolished slab. They work well for building walls because they tend to be somewhat dimensionally uniform and therefore stack well. It was built over my former garden bed that had served for my first attempts at gardening. It was an improvement in that it was higher - about three feet - which meant it was more easily defended from one of the two major enemies gardeners have in Sonoma County - snails. In fact the jagged edge of the broken concrete seemed to discourage the slimy buggers from making the the climb up the walls to get into the bed. It seemed to act as a passive barrier for the snails. I like forms of passive protection or natural barriers when it comes to protecting my garden because one of the things I strive to grow with my garden is peace of mind. I find it counter-productive to be faced with killing sentient beings to achieve my gardening goals.
This spring I harvested the last of the winter lettuce and made room for the new crop of seed planted spring lettuce. With what I had learned last year about preparing the the soil before planting, this year my garden promised to be more productive that ever. I carefully planted the tiny seeds in three neat rows, neatly covering them with 2 to 3 inches of soil and watered. I had high hopes.
Two days later I was alarmed when I noticed that something was energetically digging up what I had so carefully planted. I couldn't figure out what was occurring until one row had been entirely excavated. It was then that I saw the feathery buggers cheerfully tossing dirt over their feathery shoulders in pursuit of my well laid seed. With my hard work at stake I sought a remedy to my problem and reacted with a solution I had learned a boy on my Dad's farm in New Jersey. There, I had discovered something about birds. That is, when you shoot at them they disappear and you don't have to hit them to keep them away for quit a while. With this in mind I knew I could deal with the my issues with the birds and keep intact my more lately acquired Buddhist image of myself. I found a sling shot one of my son's had discarded and placed it ready by the door. It wasn't long, maybe a day or two, and I saw the birds again zestfully destroying my vegetable ambitions. I rushed out with all the fury and bluster of a one man Light Brigade - sling shot in hand - and fired widely but convincingly near the offending birds. Now terrorized and duly respectful the birds were once again my friends and since I had not actually hurt anything I could again assume the identity as someone who is compassionate toward animals - a Good Buddhist.
Spring progressed; it rained a few times and there is nothing a slimy bugger likes more than wet ground and new leaves. My newly sprouted lettuce starts began disappear under the onslaught of an army of snails. Like James Wolfe's men at the Battle of Quebec they had scaled the the seemingly unassailable craggy walls of my defenses. My serenity was at stake, once again I must engage human ingenuity to maintain human dominance over the environment.
"Cory's Death to Snails" was way too obvious a violation of my firmly held beliefs. So the more expensive monetarily, karmic-ally cheaper, " wildlife friendly", snail eradicator was the right choice. I happily sprinkled the "friendly" poison around my plants and Volia! Problem solved.
Time passed, spring progressed, all was well in my Peaceable Kingdom. Little plants got bigger and vegetable promises were coming true when, abruptly, my bean plants began to disappear. In fact they disappear so completely I wondered whether the plants were real or imagined in the first place, which lead me, naturally, to contemplate the difference between dream and waking reality. In the mist of this metaphysical reverie dirt brought me back to earth. I noticed small holes in the soil and small mounds! My deepest vegetable fears are realized - Aye Carumba!! Gofers! This means WAR!
The generals are summoned and counter attracts are discussed. Strangely, none of the remedies include diplomacy. They all involve different methods of extermination. Jeff at Rex Hardware suggests traps and when I ask him about gas, he says, he does not know since he has not had any gofer chili lately. Ha, Ha. Michael, who lives next door, a professional landscaper, gives me the bleak news that nothing works except, maybe, dope and guns. He suggests I get a gun and, since it may take all day, find a shady spot where I can watch the garden and get stoned. He loans me his gun.
So with my experts consulted and my research complete I opt for a three pronged attack. I will gas, poison and shoot them. Oops, where is Buddha in all this? I struggle with "greater good' arguments and positive karma of locally grown food, but in the end, I knew something more primative had been awakened.
The battle raged on. For weeks I see my best plants continue to fall. None of my defenses were working. Now the furry buggers were into the cucumbers and the biggest plants with blossoms and little budding cucumbers tumbled over like GIs on Omaha. I remember one battle as being particularly fierce:
I came out late in the afternoon. The garden had just slipped into shade and I saw that one of my egg plants had been pulled under. Then there he was! I saw the little bugger jumping back down into his newly made hole. Quickly I lit the gas bomb and shoved it down the hole. A loud hissing came from the the bomb as it forced the poisonous gas through the chambers of my enemy's liar. Then I saw a neighboring egg plant shivering as a I supposed the varmint was trying to make his escape. Grabbing the the 22 rifle I fired into the shaking soil. The soil stop moving; the gas blasted on. Victory was surely mine.
One day, two days, three days went by and all was quiet. The war was over. It was early in the season; I could replant and have a late season harvest. All had not been lost; one of my cucumbers had survived and was soon to deliver delicious lemon cucumbers. I went about putting new plants Then the unspeakable happened; my remaining lemon cucumber, yes the one I had pinned my hopes of redemption on, fell. I couldn't believe it. I had prevailed against the Feathery Buggers and the Slimy Buggers only to fall in final defeat to the apparently immortal Furry Bugger.
Crestfallen, I considered my options. All my toxic and violent remedies were to no avail. It seemed this little piece of dirt I called garden was as much the mole's as mine, but as I said, it was still early in the growing season. After all, real farmers in this area manage to farm all year round. I could begin anew, dig up the entire raised bed and put in new wire mesh - something I had planned to do in the fall. That was a lot of work and would mean that I would be destroying what was left of my garden. Or I could just accept the few remaining plants in the garden were the property of the mole and put any new starts in wire baskets. This form of "passive income" was requiring way too much work. Neither option seemed particularly attractive. The answer came from an unexpected source.
What was it that G.W. said he was allowing to happen before he invaded Iraq? What is the nature of the communication when opposing forces resolve their differences without force or violence? DIPLOMACY. What is the physical nature of diplomacy? Sound. And what is sound? Vibration. Well, after I finally understood the mole believed I had no interest in my garden when I was not physically there; I realized I needed to maintain a physical presence in the garden at all times. I had to station a diplomat to convince the furry buggy even though I was not actually in the garden at the time, I still had a "vital interest" in the region. Enter the solar powered "Sweeney's Sonic Spike". It, "Drives Moles and Gophers Away" That just what I needed; a diplomat to come and drive my mole away. I didn't care where Sweeney drove my mole. He could drive him to some foreign garden to live in luxurious exile for all I cared; I think he ended up in Laurie's flower bed - Oops.
Despite Sweeney's high salary - $30, I would recommend him to to any other sovereign garden. He does a fine job communicating, vibrating, driving and all. I wish I had considered using it in the first place. It would have saved me time and money; let alone been a more compassionate solution to the problem. The fact that it was the last thing I tried, is informative in my quest for self knowledge. Without extracting too many conclusions from this relatively small series of events; I can see quite clearly my own hypocrisy. This little garden drama showed my closely held beliefs about the effectiveness of violence. If I imagine my responsibilities to be greater than this little garden and my power subsequently greater as well, I can also imagine myself resorting to violence in the endeavor to protect my domain.
I don't know what I will will do with this new won self knowledge. I can't promise it will change my behavior in to future. It does allow me some understanding for those that do resort violence whether they be world leaders or simple gardeners.

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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