Good Stuff for all Flyfishing Savages

A bit of what's happening in our latest culture, a bit of revolution, some words to ponder, a lot of great fishing pics form "Out there Places", latest gear, and art....... This is Fly! I have been following Paris Fleezanis and the Online Magazine for sometime. I like it! Believe me, the growing number of fly fishing enthusiasts aren't the grandfatherly stereotype. No not hardly! The new up and coming group of fishing groupies are young, successful, or not, and really crave the the headish rush of a big fish tugging on a small rig! This is where the eMag comes to life and serves it's purpose, pulling a connect the dots with the new image of fly fishing. What always impresses me is the magazines take on Art. There's always an interview with some genius of artist flair whose art embellishes the cover and other inside pages of the eMag. The writers are professional and enthusiastic about their craft and the locations they cover, Continue the good vibe. AP

Sheridan Anderson, I hate I missed him!

<



I came across and old magazine entry about the death of a fly fisherman, Sheridan Andreas Mulholland Anderson. I had heard of him years before and even have a copy of the Manifesto. I am always sad in a way when I hear or read about a man I missed meeting that I know I would have liked, especially one that died during my lifetime, especially one who died too soon. Here is an excerpt from the piece I found in Drake Magazine." Just like everyone can remember the first time they met Sheridan, almost everyone can remember the last time they saw him. Joe Kelsey, who was on his way from Berkeley to the canyons of southwest Utah, stopped by to visit Sheridan in Vegas in 1981. “By then, there were all these hot climbers sleeping in their VW buses near Red Rocks,” he says. “They were drinking Perrier and doing yoga. Sheridan came in with a bottle of Jack, and plunked down in a chair, and they were all in awe of him. They knew he was one of the greats.” One of the last times Mike Anderson saw him was at their father’s funeral in February 1983; Sheridan was close to 300 pounds, and didn’t look well. “I hadn’t heard from him in a while, other than that drunken phone call every so often: ‘I miss you, I love you, brother,’” says Mike. “He just didn’t take good care of himself.”

On the evening of March 31, 1984, while he was in Vegas, he suffered an acute attack of emphysema and passed away. Mike spread his ashes in the Golden Trout Wilderness near Lone Pine, where Sheridan had spent many seasons exploring the streams and high mountain lakes of the southern Sierra. It was a place he’d hiked before, where he had found peace and solitude—and even found the elusive golden trout, “a leaping, flashing, dancing, bold ray of living sunlight.” He wrote:

Mount Humphreys was blazing away in the late afternoon sun, looking like a colossal throne against the relentless blue sky. I grinned and started laughing. I’m an eagle (I thought), a big, fat, very thirsty, rollicking eagle who was about to spread his wings and swoop down to Bishop and drink gallons and gallons of cold beer."

Meditation is Good

Sometimes, a boy needs to get out his stuff and just look at it, sort through it, organize it, touch it, smell it, clean and repair it. The process is merely a preamble to planning, packing and travel. It sets the stage and lifts the curtains of the spirit as the mind naturally begins to ooze a little testosterone along with a few choice drops of endorphins. Hopefully not enough to push you over the edge especially after a long winter. Kind of a Zen Mediation of sorts. (I recommend getting out the gear, whatever it is and going through it several times during the off season, if you have an off season), this alleviates possible "over revving" in the spring. (very dangerous). Normally if you have burned up a lot of long distance phone calls to friends in various parts of the world discussing each others need to get out, read well and trained a little, paged through plenty of gear magazines, watched a lot pertinent outdoor videos, prepared many culinary feasts of game and fish you have harvested while in the company of you best mates and toasted each other and those no longer with us, you shouldn't have any problem. It should however give you just enough "whatever it is" I guess a little anticipation along with that warm bubbling in your soul that carries you through till your out under the stars again. Makes me smile, 

Striper Time

Striper  -  Striped Bass

pronunciation: \'stri-per\  I like this Fish! He's the largest game fish in my home area and when it comes to fishing I like BIG! Here in the Tennessee Valley of North Alabama we got Pan fish, Crappie, Bass, Smallies, Large mouth, Native Freshwater Stripe, Hybrids and Salt Water Stripe or Striped Bass, along with the ever faithful Catfish to mention a few. Certain times of the year the Big Salts gather up and put the hurt on some Schooling Shad and Skip Jack. This is when I get out a 8 or 9 weight with my old Billy Pate, a big Saltwater Popper or Sardine Streamer, weight forward line, heavy tippet etc. and hit a few spots that if all things are correct, I can cast to the big boys bustin shad on top water, it's the next best thing to the Gulf. At present my wife is enduring my annual gear survey, where I pour it all out on the dinning room table, clean, discard, make notes as to any deficiencies and organize. You never have enough of this or that, there's always the new fly or lure, you need to be able to sleep at night so of course you buy it. AP

Down in Patagonia

I love to fly fish, a lot of this blog will be related to the subject. I am by no means a great fly fisherman, I've caught a few Tarpon and Permit, a few more Bones and a good amount of Trout. I don't get down to the salt water as much as I want. I'm on a river though, I wade for smallmouths and fish for Stripers. I got a lot of plans, especially for them dam Tarpoons as they say down in Hondouras, more on that later. AP