I make it “40 Days and 40 Nights, or at least until Thursday” – and am steadfastly unrepentant because it’s only Day One , figuring if I hold out till about Day 17 there’ll be enough water for both me and them plague tomatoes.
Tamawanis has too much snow, Roughfisher is fleeing his ice-bound pals for Hawaii, and us Californians brace for what could become a fourth year of drought. Even worse, it makes all them other fellows from the frostbitten East want to crowd us further…
…where else are they going to go, Florida?
But the last 24 hours has unleashed a gully washer commensurate with dire need. Horizontal rain in sheets, flooded fields (that are soaking it up greedily), and the South end of the state finally has enough water not to borrow mine …
… in fact they’re wanting to return a goodly portion, gratis.
… and as all those dour faces showed up at work – freshly assaulted by fierce winds, rain, and the death-wish tail-gaiting driver behind them, they were met with the sight of my overly fed form skipping through the hallways with a tune on my lips.
Urinalysis turned up negative – additional proof that non-outdoorsmen are humorless SOB’s.
Singlebarbed’s Official Drought indicator is whether Tom Chandler continues to post. As he’s at the top of the pass, we’ll wait until the snow burden and lack of supplies makes the Wonderdog’s tongue something to eat, and the coughing roar of the Honda generator robs him of creativity.
… today, nothing.
Come Spring they’ll find him face down in the garage – the last match clutched in nerveless fingers. Hand rubbed Spar varnish proving invulnerable to wooden matches – and the snapped remnants of Powell, Phillip’s, and Raine forming an impotent pile of debris amidst a scene from Doctor Zhivago.
Say hello to my little friend, back from the Dead …
What was dry and lifeless is now five feet of roaring filth; tree trunks, rusting cars, and the the unsteady press of a couple hundred tons of upstream gravel headed my way.
From 38 CFS to 7200, washing away the wrongdoings of last season, replenishing the carcasses and goat skeletons at the high water mark – and unearthing my favorite rusting Audi in gunfire black …
Tags: California drought, Little Stinking, Tamanawis, Roughfisher.com, Trout Underground, snapped bamboo rods, Doctor Zhivago, Audi
01/20/2010 13:15 11534
01/20/2010 13:30 12431
… and the depth of that sleepy little ditch is now 57′ … Flood stage is 82′, and one day of storms remaining.
Do you think it will have any life for us to chase after this year? I miss that place when it is 100+ degrees and we can catch smallies on top. The heat sucks but the fishing is worth it.
There’s little chance of any quality fishing – unless the flood blows some smallmouth over the damn to repopulate.
I’ll be walking the creek just to see the recovery happen – it’s of interest to me what shows first and why.
Power restored early this morning (Friday) after going away Monday PM (I think – it’s all blurring together).
The number of downed trees/limbs up here is impressive, and we seem to have taken one giant step towards relieving the drought in just three days – which is not the best way to handle it.