Happy Saturday! It's a sunny, COLD spring day, with a strong wind and temperatures rising to a glacial 4 degrees celsius here in the People's Republic of Connecticut. Sephie here, with the Dad-Lackey, trying to keep things from getting too chaotic in the absence of the Mom-person, who is teaching a workshop in the nearby Emirate of Cape Cod.
Naturally, his Eminence insists on jumping into the Trout-mobile, even though the probability of any self-respecting salmonid showing itself on a day this cold is roughly the square root of negative one. He says it's a "scouting expedition."
Okay, Scottie, give me Warp Drive and let's get this over with...
Now where the heck are we? He says this is Comstock Bridge. Bring on the horses and buggies!
Pretty gloomy, if I do say so. No wonder all those Puritans dressed in black and displayed dour countenances.
So this is the Salmon River! Whoop-de-doo! Maybe I'll find a muskrat to chew on...
Now how oxymoronic is that? How can you "manage" something as wild and untamable as a trout?
All right--not a bad looking river. I give it a "six." No fish around, though--they're all deep in the bottoms of the pools making fun of the hypothermic fools standing in water cold enough to stop the heart of a walrus.
My human fish-geek says that flyfishermen are solitary creatures. They avoid crowds, conversation, and noise. The sound of a caddisfly hatch excites them. If another person steps into the river a half-mile downstream, they move on.
That's pretty perplexing to us Kerry Blue terriers. Life to us is about companionship and ear-licks and loud conversation and doing EVERYTHING in groups of three.
Dad just stopped in his tracks, jaw dropped in horror! He's hyperventilating.
This doesn't look pretty. KAYAKERS!
Kayakers are the antithesis of flyfishermen. They're gregarious, effervescent, and always talking! Kinda like terriers, 'cept on water.
They LOVE getting together and planning things! Bread and circuses! The Dad-Servant concedes that it's important to share natural resources, and some of his best friends are kayakers...but he's now running upstream, into the deep woods, and dragging me with him!
Henry David Thoreau was a fisherman, not a kayaker.
Okay, it's pretty up here, but it's insufferably quiet. I'm just going to start barking at small rodents until the Dad-Lackey takes me back to the car!
That's a bit better! We can listen to the radio until we get back to civilization and my dinner.
That was a long afternoon. But he made up for it by getting a rotisserie chicken for supper, and Dad-Servant and Daughter-Waitress and I each had some. And then I took my nap!
Have a great weekend,