Entries by Reed F. Curry

I am indebted to Peter D. of www.neoutdoorvoice.com for leading me to this film footage. I remember watching Ted Williams batting in Fenway Park when I was young - a Red Sox/Yankees game. Ted was no longer a "splinter" but, even at 41 he was a great ballplayer. I seem to recall Whitey Ford was pitching and Yogi Berra was catching for the Yankees - I didn't worry about the Red Sox lineup because I was a Yankees fan.

Here is the film. Get your popcorn and enjoy, it's about 28 minutes.

Ted Williams - the real Ted Williams - Fishing for Atlantic Salmon

FISHING
WITH A WORM

BY

BLISS PERRY

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

MDCCCCXVI

"The last fish I caught was with a worm."—IZAAK WALTON.

A defective logic is the born fisherman's portion. He is a pattern of inconsistency. He does the things which he ought not to do, and he leaves undone the things which other people think he ought to do. He observes the wind when he should be sowing, and he regards the clouds, with temptation tugging familiarly at his heartstrings, when he might be grasping the useful sickle. It is a wonder that there is so much health in him. A sorrowing political economist remarked to me in early boyhood, as a jolly red-bearded neighbor, followed by an abnormally fat dog, sauntered past us for his nooning: "That man is the best carpenter in town, but he will leave the most important job whenever he wants to go fishing." I stared at the sinful carpenter, who swung along leisurely in the May sunshine, keeping just ahead of his dog. To leave one's job in order to go fishing! How illogical!

Dear All,
Thank you for all the kind words and prayers. I broke out of the hospital late Saturday; now I can actually get some sleep.
The new pacemaker seems to be working. It is truly a peerless pacemaker (that is for your benefit, Tom Chandler) but the wireless connectivity aspect is a tad weak. I don't know what band I am broadcasting on, but so far all I have been able to receive is weather reports in Estonian and old "Roadrunner" soundtracks (I hope that is the source of the "Beep-beep" and explosions). It could be worse, I've heard rumors of a fellow pulling in a 24-hour "all Yanni" station. Poor sot. After eighteen hours the court ordered his pacemaker removed -- quality of life considerations.
So, all is well. Again, thank you. As I am still a bit tired I wish to provide Bliss Perry's superb work on fly fishing - "Fishing with Worms" - for your delectation.

I Am the Very Model of a Modern Fly Fishing Guide
(with apologies to Sirs Gilbert and Sullivan)

I am the very model of a modern fly-fishing guide,
I've information on each sandbar, trouty run, and fishy glide,
I am conversant in all matters ichthyological,
From whitefish to salar - in order categorical.

Fishing if I, a fisher, may protest,
Of pleasures is the sweetest, of sports the best,
Of exercises the most excellent,
Of recreations the most innocent,
But now the sport is marde, and wott ye why?
Fishes decreased, and fishers multiply.

Thomas Bastard (1598)

My dear friend, J.F., did not believe in luck, fortune, fate, kismet, or even Divine Providence. When he went fishing he approached it as he did his financial transactions - examining all the combinations and permutations of conditions that might impact his success and then making deliberate decisions based upon all relevant data...until last week.

Last Thursday in Bejing, a small black dog with white paws bit the ankle of one of the leading entrepeneurs in the new China. Among the imprecations the merchant showered upon the pup, its ancestors, and its owner, were several words overheard by a passing Englishman. The Britain, fairly new to Mandarin, misunderstood those words, interpreting "may you drown in the filth of ten thousand pigs" to be "sell LGx now or lose big". Acting upon what he believed to be a choice stock tip, and warning all his friends, who warned their friends, who warned their friends, the well-meaning Brit was able, in just a few hours, to inadvertently drive a prosperous multinational company into the penny stocks.

On the plus side, J.F. was a major analyst for the troubled company and now will have much more time for fishing...

There's a spillway where a turn-of-the-century mill once stood, you can see it from the bridge. The water in the headpond is shallow and warm, suitable only for shiners and small bass. In deep summer, barely enough water comes over the twelve foot rock dam to maintain a thigh-deep flow in the fast water below, but the water directly below the dam is deceptively deep, and well oxygenated by its travel over the rough wall. This short, wide, pool lies in shade after seven o'clock in June, and then the fish, smallmouths and browns, start to emerge from the depths for their evening feed.

You walk from the yellow glow of one lamp to the next, careful not to stray too far into the smoke. You can feel the room is crowded but the figures hunched at each table are barely discernible. Cries of anguish drift to you through the eddying smoke, the intensity of the sufferer's agony measured by the volume and length of their imprecations. Voices of the damned...for a moment all is quiet, then with the snap of a thread, a low grunt of profanity ripples forth.

It's another Wednesday evening fly tying session of the Andover Fly Fishers, circa 1962...

"You can lead a horticulture, but you cannot make her think." - Dorothy Parker

Oh, Dorothy, how true -- if you mean the fly fishing media gurus. Of course, to suggest that professional fishing writers would prostitute their talents is to do them a great disservice -- they also pimp. It's the new era of full-service "servicing" available through a fly fishing magazine near you...

I don't have close friends. Not, at least, when I am fly fishing. There was one fellow I was attached to for quite some time, but we were able to get the hook out and he has since kept his distance...

Oh, they are clever indeed. In truth, they make great, but largely overlooked, contributions in artistic expression and philosophical insight. They are the bloody-minded, fish-beslimed, fly-rod-waving bloggers.

I am, alas, ignorant concerning the complex financial indices of Wall Street , knowing only that they relate to a myth called "Money". However, having spent twenty-eight years with the world's finest woman, I have acquired a fine appreciation of the nuances of Marital Angling Indices Management (MAIM)...

I was asked to review Mark Williams' recent work "So Many Fish, So Little Time" and a short while later received my pre-release copy. When it arrived I faced a unique problem - positioning.

Not a rise. If a friend hadn't assured me that this pool was the home of "some decent trout" I would have thought the water barren. Then it came to me! With all my flies I had been appealing to the trouts' sense of sight... but what about their sense of decency?...

I have been asked to let folks know of an ongoing auction of assorted Fly Fishing goodies donated by many individuals to help a young boy, Vinny Warden of Colorado, who has CD (Canavan Disease). There is no cure for this disease, but it is comforting to know that Vinnie needn't suffer during his life due to lack of love.

There are many needs out there, this is just one; however as this is an auction, no one is being asked to contribute, just buy. See http://v-bay.blogspot.com/for details.

I could see the backing, it was just down the aisle from the rack of Powerbait. I wasn't mightily impressed. It looked just as I remembered when I last spooled some on a reel. Just some string - tough but not noteworthy. "Self", I said to myself, "why does every other fly fisher see backing and wax eloquent about it; why do I never experience the joy of "the screaming reel?"...

Contemplation, pondering the mysteries of the universe and beyond, is never going to make it as a spectator sport. It had its run of course. Simon of Stylites had a respectable audience for thirty-seven years - but living atop a pillar has an attraction that sitting on a rock in midstream will never match...

A wonderful admonition if Mr. Thoreau had been speaking of fly tying -- simplifying, eliminating the profound complexity of some of our established patterns. Take, for example, the fly once universally employed when fishing for Atlantic salmon. Until some enterprising soul had the audacity to replace the feather wing of a full-dress salmon fly, which might sport twenty different types of feathers from exotic fowl, with a simple hairwing of bear or squirrel, it was a given that salmon would only strike the gaudy betrayer.

Below are some salmon flies, hairwing flies from Maritime Canada surrounding a full-dress "Blue Doctor". All of them catch fish,and not just in North America, but in all the streams where Atlantic salmon swim. So, what did it take for the first Maritimer to "dress-down" a salmon fly? Did he sleep that night or toss about, torn by guilt for believing that the noble Salmo salar would roll to such a simple device?

[Click on image to magnify]

He stared at the fish in his net. Seventeen inches of male brook trout in spawning colors - magnificent, and I said so. Leo didn't respond. After a moment he raised his eyes, which held the most curious expression, dispatched the trout with the butt of his knife and led the way up from the river without a word spoken.

You have to try it, but you feel in your gut that this fly, like the other thirty-seven you've tried, is not going to interest the trout. Most of your morning has been spent changing flies while alternately scowling at the plunge pool, tying Turle knots, adding tippet, and stifling sighs.