With the Underground holding a “get out of jail” card for Wednesday’s BWO hatch, you knew it had to happen.

Even when you can't fly fish, you go fly fishing.

It’s rained steadily the last few days – a warm rain that doesn’t pile up in your yard as fluffy white stuff, but runs right downhill to the river.

Flows on the Upper Sacramento are over 7000 cfs, and it’s clear the flows won’t be so much BWO-friendly as BWO-MIA.

Yes, California needs the water, but in my Underground-centric way of viewing the world, I don’t see why the storm couldn’t have waited until Thursday. (See how simple living with me must be?)

Thing is, I need the fishing.

Brain Vacation

Work is going hard.

The ideas are small and uninteresting. The words uninspired. The sentences flat. The brain is stuffed with wool.

Simply put, it’s time to get the hell out, BWOs or not.

And dammit, we’re tool users – we’ve got opposable thumbs and the ability to use them. We’re hardy and adaptable beings – survivors of the highest order (take that, Neanderthals).

I’ve got a 6wt Orvis Hydros fly rod to test (a replacement for the 6wt ZeroGravity I broke in Montana), and a Wonderdog that hasn’t seen the outside of the house in a couple days.

We’re going to walk along a part of the river that will likely be far too high to fly fish, and while I might try the rod on for size, if I don’t make a cast – or catch a trout – it’s still going to be fine.

In simple terms, it’s not a fly fishing trip; it’s an excursion in the interest of both canine and human mental health.

It’s either living with lowered expectations on the river, or one of the three following barely fly fishing related activities:

  • I re-read how-to articles from current fly fishing magazines (so I won’t have to read them again next year).
  • I organize my fly boxes according to color, size, and fashionability (The Martha Stewart Treatment).
  • I start making crank calls to leading fly fishing manufacturers (“My breathable waders have bad breath – how do you suggest I cure that?” [trust me - this one really slays the guys at Simms]).

As you can see, the situation is dire. The Wonderdog is staring at me as I write this. And the time is now.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Posted in Underground Entertainment, Writing and tagged , , .