"Thirsting" by Alicia Ostriker

It’s not that the old are wise

But that we thirst for the wisdom 

we had at twenty

when we understood everything 

when our brains bubbled

with tingling insights 

percolating up from

our brilliant genitals 

when our music rang like a global siege

shooting down all the lies in the world 

oh then we knew the truth

then we sparkled like mica in granite 

and now we stand on the shore

of an ocean that rises and rises 

but is too salt to drink

S.C.O.F., Spring 2018

Still one of the best. Read it HERE.

No Jacket Necessary

The red buds were in full bloom along the road to the boat ramp at Yellowwood.

It was one of the early really warm days. I began to work around the shoreline with a bead head leech.

Something round floated by: a brand new turtle. This took me back. I had a succession of turtles just like this one as pets in my childhood. I put this one back in its natural habitat and wished it luck growing old.

The wind was frisky. I made it down the east shore in a juffy.

Just before crossing over I found a nice crappie.

The lake showed signs of the recent thunderstorms. New leaves had been stripped from the trees. Their delicate beauty was short lived but appreciated.

On the west shore I switched to a little muddler dry. There were a few bluegill awake but they were shy.

I got one on a nice popping take.

I fished out the evening without another fish, but it was a lovely evening. I took this photo to mark a milestone of the young season: this was the first evening I didn't need a jacket.

Eat Sleep Fish, No. 77

The Spring Issue, over HERE.

A Steelhead Quest: Portrait of s Rivered Life

Meet a great couple on a great quest on a lot of great rivers..

The Fun Goes On

Yellowwood calls.

I start down the shoreline and find a big fat plastic bait wrapped in a bush. There is a fair amount of fisherman's trash here and it's very much visible before the leaves are fully out. Some I can pick up; some, like the lure I saw glittering from a branch thirty feet over the water, I can't.

I may use that big fat bait some day but today I'm using a big fat marabou tie. This is one of the ways that things have changed since catching that big bass. I'm constantly thinking about that fish and it makes me go with big subsurface flies. I also stay with them longer than I used to. And I'm trying to get them deeper and deeper.

I come to a little point in the shoreline and get a nice little hit on the fly. It's no lunker but it seems to confirm that I'm on the right track with this fly.

So I keep going with it past the beaver cuttings and on down the shoreline following my usual loop.

I spot a bobber bobbing in the weeds. There are quite a few bobbers. Some are faded holdovers from last year but this one was stocked this year. Sebastian will like it.

I cross over enjoying the peace and quiet.

A whippoorwill starts up. It's one of my favorite evening sounds. It seems to proclaim that summer is near and there's no going back.

I finally take off the big marabou pattern and tie on a muddler dry to see if the bluegill are awake. I get lots of splashy strikes and hook up with a few of those small fry. Then I catch a good one. Looking good in the bluegill department.

I kick along and see a fish rise and rise again. Expecting a bluegill I cast to it and get an instant take. What do you know, it's a bass.

That's the way I like to catch them.

I think of other bass I have known who relished a big bass bug twitched on the surface just at dark. I think I need to keep looking for a lake with lily pads and big bass who like to patrol them.

But then again, that lunker I caught just a few weeks ago is still in here. Do I stay with the subsurface flies, or is it time to go on top? And if I do, how do I get her and her ilk to come up and join me?

And the fun goes on.

Viva Patagonia

Oh my.

This Is Fly, No. 67

Right HERE.

Signs of Life Everywhere

Off to Griffy for another adventure with Sebastian. It's a beautiful day and we put in some time getting serious about catching a fish.

But alas, we can't get even a nibble. No one else has been having much luck there either. Sebastian begins to dig deeper into one of his favorite topics: the relationship between rocks and water.

He pulls a big rock out from the shoreline. He's about to throw it to see how big a splash it will make when he notices something curious.

He calls me over to take a look. What are those gelatinous orbs attached to the underside?

We think they're frog's eggs. I begin to tell him what I know about the life cycle of frogs and am pleased to hear that they've already talked about that at his preschool. I say he can throw it in now if he wants but he carefully puts it back where he found it.

We decide to hike and while I'm packing up the fishing gear he responds to some ancient archetypal urge in the human spirit and leaves his mark on the rock. Signs of life everywhere.

Spring continues to unfurl in the woods.

Sebastian is patient while I stop to take photos.

He even helps me look for new wild flowers and finds the prize of the day: red trilliums.

We head for the truck and now I have to be patient while Sebastian pursues the art of climbing. 

I think maybe someday he'll make it back to the truck and never touch the ground.

The Mission, No. 9

Find it HERE,