14 October 2012
19 November 2008
Barney Frank on NPR's Morning Edition: Priceless discourse
I have been utterly moved this morning to come out of my blogging seclusion to comment on a recurring piece of sheer entertainment on National Public Radio's Morning Edition (NPR ME). Representative Barney Frank (D-MA) is the current chair for the House Financial Services Committee--an extremely busy and high profile post in current times. As such, he is continually working image control on the 'bailouts' that began with AIG, continued through much of the financial sector, and now are focused on the US auto industry. My comments here are completely a-political, rather my goal is to make sure anyone who reads this takes at least a moment to listen to one of these interviews! As the title uses the word, I reiterate: priceless.
Rep. Frank cannot help himself but to fill every second of each of these interviews with his opinionated and assertive blather; but I cannot help but listen. There is no interviewer necessary. The first such discourse I heard was 'moderated' by ME's Renee Montagne. Frank took the opportunity to deliver a speech regarding the importance of the government's 'investment' into the financial sector. Throughout the interview, he refused to be interrupted by Ms. Montagne in her attempts to guide the discussion, question Frank's arguments, or request clarification. When she finally gained Mr. Frank's attention for such a request, the interview slipped off into oblivion as the representative continued to clarify his point into the next break. The second intervew was similar and Mr. Frank continued to talk as Ms. Montagne proclaimed as loudly as she could that they were out of time.
This morning I nearly spat my coffee onto the dash of the car when I heard that Montagne's co-host Steve Innskeep would interview Frank. Montagne and Innskeep must have formed a gameplan in the wee hours of the morning and decided that Innskeep was the man to carry it out. The interview followed a familiar format, with Innskeep asking a specific question and Frank replying with an encompassing essay with opinionated and conjecturing supporting statements. As you may have already surmised, there are no conclusions in Frank's verbal essays. Toward the end of the interview, Innskeep managed to get Frank to hush up long enough for "one last question, and we only have a few seconds for your response". Frank quickly piped up, before the question had even been posed, "well, you'd better not make it complicated if I only have a few seconds [sic]because I need time to respond to these things...." Innskeep could no longer control himself and burst out into what must have been simmering laughter that was finally brought to a boil after a morning's worth of preparations for this gem of an interview.
You may listen to the most recent interview on NPR's website by clicking the link here: NPR's 11.19.2008 interview with Rep. Barney Frank
This article is not attended as an endorsement of any political ideology, party, or representative. It is, however, intended as an endorsement of NPR's Morning Edition and their continuing interview series with Rep. Frank.
Rep. Frank cannot help himself but to fill every second of each of these interviews with his opinionated and assertive blather; but I cannot help but listen. There is no interviewer necessary. The first such discourse I heard was 'moderated' by ME's Renee Montagne. Frank took the opportunity to deliver a speech regarding the importance of the government's 'investment' into the financial sector. Throughout the interview, he refused to be interrupted by Ms. Montagne in her attempts to guide the discussion, question Frank's arguments, or request clarification. When she finally gained Mr. Frank's attention for such a request, the interview slipped off into oblivion as the representative continued to clarify his point into the next break. The second intervew was similar and Mr. Frank continued to talk as Ms. Montagne proclaimed as loudly as she could that they were out of time.
This morning I nearly spat my coffee onto the dash of the car when I heard that Montagne's co-host Steve Innskeep would interview Frank. Montagne and Innskeep must have formed a gameplan in the wee hours of the morning and decided that Innskeep was the man to carry it out. The interview followed a familiar format, with Innskeep asking a specific question and Frank replying with an encompassing essay with opinionated and conjecturing supporting statements. As you may have already surmised, there are no conclusions in Frank's verbal essays. Toward the end of the interview, Innskeep managed to get Frank to hush up long enough for "one last question, and we only have a few seconds for your response". Frank quickly piped up, before the question had even been posed, "well, you'd better not make it complicated if I only have a few seconds [sic]because I need time to respond to these things...." Innskeep could no longer control himself and burst out into what must have been simmering laughter that was finally brought to a boil after a morning's worth of preparations for this gem of an interview.
You may listen to the most recent interview on NPR's website by clicking the link here: NPR's 11.19.2008 interview with Rep. Barney Frank
This article is not attended as an endorsement of any political ideology, party, or representative. It is, however, intended as an endorsement of NPR's Morning Edition and their continuing interview series with Rep. Frank.
14 January 2008
Poor Francis Rags to Riches Best in Show Lowe
In early 2007 PFRRBSL (top left), or Frankie as she is known around the house, was living a tough life under the pseudonym Isabelle (or Izzy) at the Montgomery County Animal Shelter in Christiansburg, VA. Lucky for her, the Friends of the shelter had her best interests in mind for finding her a new home.In February and March 2007, our tongue-in-cheek comments on getting a second dog turned more serious (as that kind of repetitive joking tends to do). We became convinced that our other beagle, Billie (full name: Billie Jean Is Not My Lover Run for the Roses Lowe) was in severe need of a canine companion--and what better companion for a beagle than another beagle. Natasha began window shopping the area shelter websites for young beagles that may still have the hope to be 'trained' for the lush indoor life that Billie had been enjoying for more than 2 years at that point. Of 'pure-bred' dogs, beagles may be the most common to wind up in shelters (no reference given here, so treat it as conjecture) for various reasons which have perhaps already been discussed in the well-received blog entry here. As we soon found out, if you want a beagle you can probably find one (or more) in your local shelter.
Natasha was still working at Montgomery Regional Hospital at that time and before going to work one weekend asked me to call area shelters about the dogs that they had. I called the Montgomery County shelter and mentioned that I was a beagle owner and was looking for a buddy for our 34lb 2 year old female. The lady with whom I spoke mentioned that she would pass my information immediately on to the local beagle rescue (not sure if this is a formal or informal organization) about our request for a second companion. Later that Saturday night, I had a call from Kim from beagle rescue telling me that she had the dog for us. I told her more details about Billie and she invited Natasha and me to the dog walk on Sunday, even though the shelter was closed that day.
We arrived not long after noon on Sunday, and was greeted by Kim and two of the other Friends of the shelter who introduced us to Frankie. She was a ragged-looking, excited dog who was dwarfed by Billie's 'barrel-chested' physique. There is a wonderful fenced playing area that allowed us to see how Frankie and Billie would tolerate each other.
In their first meeting, Frankie was playful and Billie responded excitedly. They ran several laps around the enclosed area, and then I tested Frankie to see how she responded to commands and people in general. She picked up quickly on the basics and came equipped with sit and her favorite to this day, turn-around. She really knew how to put on a good show for adoption day, which pleasantly surprised Kim, who knew how timid Frankie really is.
We could not possibly say no to taking Frankie home. She had failed at two other adoptions before ours, apparently for barking too much. Our guess is that she was put on a tie-out and left there, where almost no beagle would last too long before driving an owner batty with the barking. We asked Kim to get the paperwork started, and commenced the process of adopting Frankie. We filled out the approximately 10 lines of information and then was asked for the $10 adoption fee. For some reason, we did not have any cash (no surprise to my dad, I am sure); so I told them, hold on Wachovia is 2 miles away, I'll be back. As I walked out to the car another Friend came jogging after me, "There's no reason for you drive to get the money, come on back in and we'll get you fixed up." Kim told me, as I reentered the shelter, "We just want to make sure that folks are willing to make a commitment, and you obviously know how to take care of Billie and are familiar with beagles." We left that day with Frankie and a great deal of gratitude for the Friends. Later that month we made a donation to the shelter to cover her adoption fee and to become Friends ourselves.
To our great fortune, Frankie is a wonderful dog. In addition to sit and turn-around, she came house trained and is still better trained than Billie in those respects. We are most-thankful to have the opportunity to host Frankie in our home, and look forward to spending the years with her.
26 September 2007
'Off the hook' Appearance
Big Ed, host of 'Off the Hook' of WWBU 101.7FM (http://www.oth247.com/) in Fairlawn, VA was kind enough to invite me to represent NRVTU in an interview on his 9/26/2007 show. This was a ton of fun, and Big Ed hosted an good interview. I discussed the need to be mindful toward our cold-water resources, noting that trout cannot survive in water hotter than 70deg.F for extended periods. We talked about what was going on at NRVTU, especially the camping trip coming up, and discussed ways for people to get involved with trout fishing for wild specimens. Overall, this was a wonderful experience, and Big Ed has invited me to come back on and talk about techniques later this fall. Certainly nymphing will be the thing to discuss, as fall waters cool down and sub-surface activities heat up.
14 August 2007
Nissan selling junk
After our 2002 Nissan Altima had been burning oil for a couple of years, I decided to check on the issue. Unfortunately, this is common among owners. And Nissan has been thoroughly evasive about resolving it. Until this day, I would recommend this vehicle to anyone; but reading this commonality among owners, I must discourage Nissan ownership. Before, I saw this as an inconvenience that required us to put a quart of oil in our car every 700miles; but I now realize that it is only a matter of time before our car's engine fails. And this has been a known problem that has been actively avoided by the manufacturer.
04 May 2007
18 April 2007
Virginia Tech
The Hokie Nation has received wonderful support from so many. Each one of us has experienced the compassion of friends, family, and strangers that has served enormous comfort during this difficult time. It is utterly remarkable the amount of genuine concern that has been expressed to even those like me, who were not even on campus during the event. None I have spoken with have any doubt about the future recovery of this great institution.
26 March 2007
South Fork Holston, March 24-25, 2007
My dad and I were lucky enough to be able to take a Southwest Virginia adventure last weekend. I called him up on Friday to ask if he would be interested in camping somewhere on Saturday, and it took no amount of convincing to get a 'yeah, that sounds pretty good' from him. With my perpetually busy weekends while a student, we have not been able to take one of these trips for as long as I can remember, so this one was a real treat.
The weekend started as usual with a couple of issues, namely that we had no sleeping bags and no tent. Well, of course I have a tent that my parents bought N and I for Christmas, but in my haste to get out the door on Saturday morning from Blacksburg it was left in the closet. Anyway, my folks had a tent as well, but it happened to be in the attic of the house that they moved from last year. To make a long story short there, I was able to get up with my cousin who now lives there and retrieve the tent although we had to do it without him present...
It was about 5:30pm when my dad and I piled all our gear and ourselves into his Chevy S-10 pickup, looking like gypsies living out the back of the thing with trash bags of bedding supplies protruding from the top of the truck bed. Did I mention that we did not have sleeping bags? More on that later.
So, we took off a few minutes before 6pm with plans on fishing the South Fork of the Holston River in Smyth County before dark. Now may be a good time to introduce the map (you may click on it to biggie size it):
In this map, our tour on Saturday is shown in a thick black line, while our Sunday adventure is the red line.
Our trip started and ended in beautiful Cedar Bluff, VA (1 and 8 on the map above). We had studied the trusty DeLorme Virginia Atlas and Gazetteer for a good half an hour before taking off since neither of us had fished the trout portion of S. Fork Holston before this trip and therefore did not know exactly how to get there. We knew step one for sure, go to Chilhowie.
Now my dad had talked to folks about getting there and he knew "you just go to Chilhowie and turn at the flashing light and follow the road up the river." Well, it turned out that this description was not entirely inaccurate except the 'just' in it. From the time we got to Saltville, north of Chilhowie, I meticulously continued to study the map to figure out how to get to that elusive flashing light that of course did not appear on the map. As Whitetop Road passed by Shuler Hollow Rd., then Old Airport Rd., we knew we were on the right track. Then at the bottom of the hill, the yellow flashing lights appeared, just before Whitetop Road crossed a river, the S. Fork of the Holston River.
The left at the light put us well on our way and before long we pulled into the Buller Fish Cultural Station that we sought to fish (2 on the map). It was now about 7:15pm, so time was of the essence if we were to get any good fishing in. Oh, and where were we going to camp anyway? Obviously not at Buller.
The hatchery has a little dam in the S. Fork at the head of the land where a 500ft section of river is managed as put and take. Just below the dam is a 1/2mile section of catch and release trophy trout water that is managed by stocking fingerling trout with presumably some natural reproduction occurring as well. I quickly unpacked my rod and headed straight for the special regulation area, while my dad grabbed his to see how the dam was fishing.
The first thing I noticed as I approached the stream just below the dam was a definite hatch occurring. In my haste to fish, I did not identify the small insects, but in my memory they were size #14-16 dark colored mayflies, possibly Hendrickson's or even Blue-winged Olives (with an over-estimated size in my memory) but not necessarily. I did not fish the hole just below the dam, theorizing that it was overfished anyway, but headed downstream to the next nice pocket. I found a nice deep run that I just knew had to hold a fish and began casting to it with an ugly double beadhead bug that Steve at Tangent Outfitters had shown me the week before. It was good and heavy so that the bug would penetrate the healthy but not overwhelming current.
On my third or fourth cast, I was astonished to see a trout rise just a foot or so from where I was casting. Now, in the brook trout streams I frequent I would have already caught or missed that fish, but in the semi-technical and semi-big water at S. Fork, this fish could rightfully possess an affinity for holding a rise lane. I casted again, trying to find the right current to drift the bug right by the previous rise, without a take. I tried again with the same result. I may have given up in usual brookie fishing conditions, but decided to give another try, and when my fly line paused slightly in the current, I quickly stripped the slack with my right hand (I fish left handed) and felt the weight and surge of a trout. This fish fought strongly, but not with the strength of one of the 3 pounders that are rumored to haunt this section of stream. I quickly played him, but knew I needed some proof of the catch; so I fumbled around with getting my camera out of its pouch to photograph the fish. As it neared me, I could not have been more pleased with the rainbow as it flashed its brilliant red cheeks and dark spots my way. It was immediately clear that if this fish was not stream bred, it had been a resident for a while. The two photos I took:
Later in the trip, I was able to land a few other rainbows, but none of them had the beautiful markings of this one. It was clear looking at this fish in person and even in the photograph that its beautiful spots and natural coloring serve a definite purpose in camouflaging the fish from the would-be avian predators (I saw a great blue heron there the next day). In contrast, the recently stocked fish also have spots but lack the warmth of color while their spots appear to be there due to an obligation to the Maker. It amazes me to see the effect that nature has on these creatures.
As I brought the fish to hand, I was able to keep it in the water to release it, but did grasp it with a wet hand. The fish was firm and stout with quite a girth for its 13" length.
I ventured downstream after that catch looking for similar runs and believing that the last 30 minutes of daylight would be spent in trout heaven. I came upon a nice set of runs that would take some time to fish properly and hopped into the water. To my disappointment, the bugs that swarmed around the leeside of the dam were absent. And so were the strikes. I caught no more fish that evening.
I walked back to the truck and asked my dad about his luck. He had one good bite, but no takers. After casting a couple of times in the slow water, we hopped in the truck with an appetite.
We needed a bite to eat and a place to stay, so we headed toward Marion via Sugar Grove (3 on the map). The same road that appeared at the flashing lights took us straight there and we turned left onto Route 16 toward Marion. It was 8:15pm when we passed a 'Bed and Breakfast' in Sugar Grove called the Sugar Grove Restaurant and Lodging. We walked up to the open door of the rustic-styled dinning room and asked if we were too late for a bite to eat. They welcomed us in with the warning that they could do everything but chicken and steak--they didn't tell us that they were out of cole slaw then, though. This place turned out to be a real gem of an eatery, with entrees that cost about $5 and delicious home cooking. Indeed, the establishment had won the best home-style restaurant in Smyth County for three years running. I got the special of the day, homemade pork BBQ, that had a flavor I had not tasted before that was achieved by the addition of either ham or bacon to the usual Boston Butt-style meat. My dad's pintos must have been pretty good because we both left with a smile.
As we left the restaurant, we decided it was worth a shot at getting lodging there--wimp out of the camping trip--but some missionaries had taken all the rooms that night so we were out of luck. I hopped in the truck to find some National Forest land on the map to set up camp, but my dad soon said that 'we would head on over to Camp', 'back to one of his old haunts' (4 on the map). I feel as though those are exact quotes, but I did not record them, so I cannot be for certain. Anyway, I did not know about 'Camp', but quickly found it on the map. I began to give my dad directions, when he interrupted me that he knew where he was now so that I could just relax.
We turned right at the big barn in Camp, as my dad had mentioned before and headed up a dirt road. We finally reached National Forest and found a roadside camping spot with a great little plot right on beautiful Middle Creek that followed the road. My dad mentioned that this was a place he would come with friends and family to hunt at the base of Iron Mountain.
We pulled out the tent that had been in the attic for several years and began to blunder with putting it up. It is grotesquely cliche to describe the imbecility of two men putting up a tent, so I will be brief: 1. We put it up with the tent inside out, 2. We put the poles on the inside when they should go on the outside. We left it at 2. Then we opened our trash bag of bedding and stretched out on the bed rolls.
Not long after we began to rest, my dad said that "it's almost too warm for a blanket but too cold not to use one." Those words were true at the moment, but the crystal clear sky of the evening foretold of the change that was to occur. Well, it did not get too cold, but the lack of foresight in packing the proper bedding would make it plenty cold enough. With just one blanket a piece, we both tossed and turned the night away trying to bundle tighter. I am certain that the blanket I used breathed with every movement or breeze that entered the tent. Even worse, if I stretched it tighter, it breathed deeper.
We made it through the night sans sleep. It was a wonderfully peaceful night, with the only traffic coming as one truck passed while we were fumbling with the tent, but a little sleep would not have hurt. I got up at 5:30am to fix some salmon cakes with the canned salmon and crackers we had packed from home, when my dad asked "you aren't planning on making a fire are you?"
"Well, I was going to..."
"No, let's not do that..."
And then we were packing up and moving on.
We headed back to Sugar Grove to find some gas and eats, but nothing was open just yet; so we headed on up Rt. 16 to Marion (5 on the map). After grabbing some gas and a couple of biscuits and spilling a cup of coffee in the store, we were headed south again towards S. Fork. We got to Buller (6 on the map) with perfect timing, just before sunrise. I hopped in the river to fish the hole right below the dam and my dad casted out into the slow water above it. I foul-hooked and caught one 9 incher that still had the look of a stocker and headed back up to where my dad was fishing. He had caught one by that time and had seen a couple others caught. We decided to stay another hour there before venturing on.
Walking past the huge culturing ponds at Buller, I was looking for a prime stretch of the S. Fork to fish thoroughly. I hate to admit it, but the stretch I chose was one that had been channelized by slabs of concrete on the far bank. This stretch had it all, though, save beautiful riparian flora. There were swift runs, slow pools, and plunges--all my usual trout habitat pre-requisites. I fished this section fairly well, and was pleased to get several rises to a #16 black ant and caught two of those. Both were small and one was tiny. Its markings indicated that indeed the state does manage this stretch of the fishery by stocking fingerling trout.
I walked the 1/4mile back up to the dam to see if my dad was ready to hang it up. He had not caught any more but had lost a nice one on a meal worm that he found laying on the ground. We got back in the S-10 to head on out.
My dad knew that Rural Retreat Lake pond (7 on the map) was stocked a couple of days before and since it was kind of on our way, we decided to try it out. We headed back past Sugar Grove and by Cedar Springs until we reached the pond. I put on a stocker-favorite and began casting to the very muddy water. There were several people there fishing, probably as many as 25, which is a good number for a pond that is 200ft by 400ft in dimensions. I caught my second trout of the day by foul hooking soon after we arrived and tossed him on a stick against my dad's recommendation. I told him that there was no way I tried to snag the fish and so I did not understand the purpose of releasing it.
After that, I tied on a dropper fly that looks like a wax worm and immediately began getting hits. My dad found some corn on the ground and dropped it below a bobber with the same results. I believe that he was getting bites from trout, but my elusive bites turned out to be crappie. This was not so bad, since the one I actually landed was a good 5 1/2-6", but it was nothing for the skillet.
As we headed out, a game warden came around to check our licenses and creels. He noticed our gypsy-pack and asked if we had been camping the night before and where--in particular, he wanted to know if we had camped at Rural Retreat Lake. My dad told him we had camped at Camp to which the warden replied that it was a nice night for it. True enough, it sure was, but my dad said "well, it was a little chilly."
I piped up to say that it would have been great, if we had sleeping bags.
The warden seemed at a loss for a moment that we did not have sleeping bags. Even in my sleepy haze, this was amusing.
After that we headed back to Cedar Bluff via I-81 to Wythville to I-77 to Bastian, down through Grapefield. We hopped on Rt. 61 and were back where we started in another 45 minutes.
All-in-all, a great trip. I spent much of the rest of Sunday at a BBQ at my wife's grandparents and groggily played outside with my 7 year old niece. As for the fish, I grilled them in aluminum foil but had no takers--I wonder if they were eaten later. Later, my mom fixed a very nice dinner for the family and my wife drove us home. I don't remember that drive.
This week, I had one big priority--order a sleeping bag. It arrived on Thursday.
The weekend started as usual with a couple of issues, namely that we had no sleeping bags and no tent. Well, of course I have a tent that my parents bought N and I for Christmas, but in my haste to get out the door on Saturday morning from Blacksburg it was left in the closet. Anyway, my folks had a tent as well, but it happened to be in the attic of the house that they moved from last year. To make a long story short there, I was able to get up with my cousin who now lives there and retrieve the tent although we had to do it without him present...
It was about 5:30pm when my dad and I piled all our gear and ourselves into his Chevy S-10 pickup, looking like gypsies living out the back of the thing with trash bags of bedding supplies protruding from the top of the truck bed. Did I mention that we did not have sleeping bags? More on that later.
So, we took off a few minutes before 6pm with plans on fishing the South Fork of the Holston River in Smyth County before dark. Now may be a good time to introduce the map (you may click on it to biggie size it):
In this map, our tour on Saturday is shown in a thick black line, while our Sunday adventure is the red line.Our trip started and ended in beautiful Cedar Bluff, VA (1 and 8 on the map above). We had studied the trusty DeLorme Virginia Atlas and Gazetteer for a good half an hour before taking off since neither of us had fished the trout portion of S. Fork Holston before this trip and therefore did not know exactly how to get there. We knew step one for sure, go to Chilhowie.
Now my dad had talked to folks about getting there and he knew "you just go to Chilhowie and turn at the flashing light and follow the road up the river." Well, it turned out that this description was not entirely inaccurate except the 'just' in it. From the time we got to Saltville, north of Chilhowie, I meticulously continued to study the map to figure out how to get to that elusive flashing light that of course did not appear on the map. As Whitetop Road passed by Shuler Hollow Rd., then Old Airport Rd., we knew we were on the right track. Then at the bottom of the hill, the yellow flashing lights appeared, just before Whitetop Road crossed a river, the S. Fork of the Holston River.
The left at the light put us well on our way and before long we pulled into the Buller Fish Cultural Station that we sought to fish (2 on the map). It was now about 7:15pm, so time was of the essence if we were to get any good fishing in. Oh, and where were we going to camp anyway? Obviously not at Buller.
The hatchery has a little dam in the S. Fork at the head of the land where a 500ft section of river is managed as put and take. Just below the dam is a 1/2mile section of catch and release trophy trout water that is managed by stocking fingerling trout with presumably some natural reproduction occurring as well. I quickly unpacked my rod and headed straight for the special regulation area, while my dad grabbed his to see how the dam was fishing.
The first thing I noticed as I approached the stream just below the dam was a definite hatch occurring. In my haste to fish, I did not identify the small insects, but in my memory they were size #14-16 dark colored mayflies, possibly Hendrickson's or even Blue-winged Olives (with an over-estimated size in my memory) but not necessarily. I did not fish the hole just below the dam, theorizing that it was overfished anyway, but headed downstream to the next nice pocket. I found a nice deep run that I just knew had to hold a fish and began casting to it with an ugly double beadhead bug that Steve at Tangent Outfitters had shown me the week before. It was good and heavy so that the bug would penetrate the healthy but not overwhelming current.
On my third or fourth cast, I was astonished to see a trout rise just a foot or so from where I was casting. Now, in the brook trout streams I frequent I would have already caught or missed that fish, but in the semi-technical and semi-big water at S. Fork, this fish could rightfully possess an affinity for holding a rise lane. I casted again, trying to find the right current to drift the bug right by the previous rise, without a take. I tried again with the same result. I may have given up in usual brookie fishing conditions, but decided to give another try, and when my fly line paused slightly in the current, I quickly stripped the slack with my right hand (I fish left handed) and felt the weight and surge of a trout. This fish fought strongly, but not with the strength of one of the 3 pounders that are rumored to haunt this section of stream. I quickly played him, but knew I needed some proof of the catch; so I fumbled around with getting my camera out of its pouch to photograph the fish. As it neared me, I could not have been more pleased with the rainbow as it flashed its brilliant red cheeks and dark spots my way. It was immediately clear that if this fish was not stream bred, it had been a resident for a while. The two photos I took:
Later in the trip, I was able to land a few other rainbows, but none of them had the beautiful markings of this one. It was clear looking at this fish in person and even in the photograph that its beautiful spots and natural coloring serve a definite purpose in camouflaging the fish from the would-be avian predators (I saw a great blue heron there the next day). In contrast, the recently stocked fish also have spots but lack the warmth of color while their spots appear to be there due to an obligation to the Maker. It amazes me to see the effect that nature has on these creatures.As I brought the fish to hand, I was able to keep it in the water to release it, but did grasp it with a wet hand. The fish was firm and stout with quite a girth for its 13" length.
I ventured downstream after that catch looking for similar runs and believing that the last 30 minutes of daylight would be spent in trout heaven. I came upon a nice set of runs that would take some time to fish properly and hopped into the water. To my disappointment, the bugs that swarmed around the leeside of the dam were absent. And so were the strikes. I caught no more fish that evening.
I walked back to the truck and asked my dad about his luck. He had one good bite, but no takers. After casting a couple of times in the slow water, we hopped in the truck with an appetite.
We needed a bite to eat and a place to stay, so we headed toward Marion via Sugar Grove (3 on the map). The same road that appeared at the flashing lights took us straight there and we turned left onto Route 16 toward Marion. It was 8:15pm when we passed a 'Bed and Breakfast' in Sugar Grove called the Sugar Grove Restaurant and Lodging. We walked up to the open door of the rustic-styled dinning room and asked if we were too late for a bite to eat. They welcomed us in with the warning that they could do everything but chicken and steak--they didn't tell us that they were out of cole slaw then, though. This place turned out to be a real gem of an eatery, with entrees that cost about $5 and delicious home cooking. Indeed, the establishment had won the best home-style restaurant in Smyth County for three years running. I got the special of the day, homemade pork BBQ, that had a flavor I had not tasted before that was achieved by the addition of either ham or bacon to the usual Boston Butt-style meat. My dad's pintos must have been pretty good because we both left with a smile.
As we left the restaurant, we decided it was worth a shot at getting lodging there--wimp out of the camping trip--but some missionaries had taken all the rooms that night so we were out of luck. I hopped in the truck to find some National Forest land on the map to set up camp, but my dad soon said that 'we would head on over to Camp', 'back to one of his old haunts' (4 on the map). I feel as though those are exact quotes, but I did not record them, so I cannot be for certain. Anyway, I did not know about 'Camp', but quickly found it on the map. I began to give my dad directions, when he interrupted me that he knew where he was now so that I could just relax.
We turned right at the big barn in Camp, as my dad had mentioned before and headed up a dirt road. We finally reached National Forest and found a roadside camping spot with a great little plot right on beautiful Middle Creek that followed the road. My dad mentioned that this was a place he would come with friends and family to hunt at the base of Iron Mountain.
We pulled out the tent that had been in the attic for several years and began to blunder with putting it up. It is grotesquely cliche to describe the imbecility of two men putting up a tent, so I will be brief: 1. We put it up with the tent inside out, 2. We put the poles on the inside when they should go on the outside. We left it at 2. Then we opened our trash bag of bedding and stretched out on the bed rolls.
Not long after we began to rest, my dad said that "it's almost too warm for a blanket but too cold not to use one." Those words were true at the moment, but the crystal clear sky of the evening foretold of the change that was to occur. Well, it did not get too cold, but the lack of foresight in packing the proper bedding would make it plenty cold enough. With just one blanket a piece, we both tossed and turned the night away trying to bundle tighter. I am certain that the blanket I used breathed with every movement or breeze that entered the tent. Even worse, if I stretched it tighter, it breathed deeper.
We made it through the night sans sleep. It was a wonderfully peaceful night, with the only traffic coming as one truck passed while we were fumbling with the tent, but a little sleep would not have hurt. I got up at 5:30am to fix some salmon cakes with the canned salmon and crackers we had packed from home, when my dad asked "you aren't planning on making a fire are you?"
"Well, I was going to..."
"No, let's not do that..."
And then we were packing up and moving on.
We headed back to Sugar Grove to find some gas and eats, but nothing was open just yet; so we headed on up Rt. 16 to Marion (5 on the map). After grabbing some gas and a couple of biscuits and spilling a cup of coffee in the store, we were headed south again towards S. Fork. We got to Buller (6 on the map) with perfect timing, just before sunrise. I hopped in the river to fish the hole right below the dam and my dad casted out into the slow water above it. I foul-hooked and caught one 9 incher that still had the look of a stocker and headed back up to where my dad was fishing. He had caught one by that time and had seen a couple others caught. We decided to stay another hour there before venturing on.
Walking past the huge culturing ponds at Buller, I was looking for a prime stretch of the S. Fork to fish thoroughly. I hate to admit it, but the stretch I chose was one that had been channelized by slabs of concrete on the far bank. This stretch had it all, though, save beautiful riparian flora. There were swift runs, slow pools, and plunges--all my usual trout habitat pre-requisites. I fished this section fairly well, and was pleased to get several rises to a #16 black ant and caught two of those. Both were small and one was tiny. Its markings indicated that indeed the state does manage this stretch of the fishery by stocking fingerling trout.
I walked the 1/4mile back up to the dam to see if my dad was ready to hang it up. He had not caught any more but had lost a nice one on a meal worm that he found laying on the ground. We got back in the S-10 to head on out.
My dad knew that Rural Retreat Lake pond (7 on the map) was stocked a couple of days before and since it was kind of on our way, we decided to try it out. We headed back past Sugar Grove and by Cedar Springs until we reached the pond. I put on a stocker-favorite and began casting to the very muddy water. There were several people there fishing, probably as many as 25, which is a good number for a pond that is 200ft by 400ft in dimensions. I caught my second trout of the day by foul hooking soon after we arrived and tossed him on a stick against my dad's recommendation. I told him that there was no way I tried to snag the fish and so I did not understand the purpose of releasing it.
After that, I tied on a dropper fly that looks like a wax worm and immediately began getting hits. My dad found some corn on the ground and dropped it below a bobber with the same results. I believe that he was getting bites from trout, but my elusive bites turned out to be crappie. This was not so bad, since the one I actually landed was a good 5 1/2-6", but it was nothing for the skillet.
As we headed out, a game warden came around to check our licenses and creels. He noticed our gypsy-pack and asked if we had been camping the night before and where--in particular, he wanted to know if we had camped at Rural Retreat Lake. My dad told him we had camped at Camp to which the warden replied that it was a nice night for it. True enough, it sure was, but my dad said "well, it was a little chilly."
I piped up to say that it would have been great, if we had sleeping bags.
The warden seemed at a loss for a moment that we did not have sleeping bags. Even in my sleepy haze, this was amusing.
After that we headed back to Cedar Bluff via I-81 to Wythville to I-77 to Bastian, down through Grapefield. We hopped on Rt. 61 and were back where we started in another 45 minutes.
All-in-all, a great trip. I spent much of the rest of Sunday at a BBQ at my wife's grandparents and groggily played outside with my 7 year old niece. As for the fish, I grilled them in aluminum foil but had no takers--I wonder if they were eaten later. Later, my mom fixed a very nice dinner for the family and my wife drove us home. I don't remember that drive.
This week, I had one big priority--order a sleeping bag. It arrived on Thursday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
