It’s research to be sure, but there’s no starched white lab coats, it’s ducking and weaving behind tree trunks and skidding precariously down inclines, all to the continued amusement of the Oft-Crapping Pooch …
My current theory of rainfall, ground saturation, and the rise of the Big Muddy, is that my local soil can assimilate only one and one half days of sustained rain before the creek is the sole beneficiary.
After 36 hours of rain the Little Stinking became mud brown and rose a couple of feet. Three days later it was still up but clear …
After another 24 hours of heavy downpour, the creek was unrecognizable, as it rose about five feet and went from fifty feet across, to nearly 100 yards wide.
Naturally, compressing all that water through the notch at Huff’s Corner narrows it some, which increases both depth and velocity, ensuring a heavy scour.
As each new season requires me to retrace my steps to assess all the scour-induced topography changes, I had mixed emotions about the new tree trunk in my favorite hole – whose corresponding root ball now dominates the shallows above. Most of these woody “gifts” claim many dozens of my finely crafted flies, typically when I’m down to the last of whatever is working that day.
I’d feel better if I could claim those flies during the dry spells, but that rarely happens. Each winter sends the log into the brush above the creek and away from view, or launches the beast into the Sacramento, along with all the lawnmowers and decayed shopping carts.
But, but, but…aren’t these “features” great hides for fish? Therefore, where you MUST throw your flys?!?
Merry and Happy, John
Whoa what gives you’re back? Sweet! No more lame blog reading I can have my coffee and morning poop without trying to erase the poop I was forced into reading! This is great real deal stuff with dead animals in the car, jerky and no catalog add type crap! So does this mean we will get another chance at your Free Range Dry Fly Dudding?
dubbing, my excitement go to me.
Suddenly I flash on the Good Bad & The Ugly, with pal Clint sneering visible through his cigar, “There are only two kinds of people, those with Free Range Dry Fly – and those who dig …”
I would call it back, kinda. Still trying to figure out what to do with this journal in light of enormous work commitments.
I will make no promises about anything.
… and for pal John, Yes – that was my best attempt at a whine. Them tree trunks make excellent cover, but I resent them mightily when I have to snap off that last fly …
“There are two kinds of spurs my friend those that come in the door and those that come in the window” Probably the most obscure quote from that movie but Tuco was an underrated bad ass. I’ll never give up on some Free Range in a sulfur yellow. Oooh I can see it a #18 thorax dun, split white tail, abdomen of Free Range yellow dubbed to orange floss, cream or golden badger hackle wound over a blend of orange and yellow, clipped bottom. I can dream can’t I.