On Mar 2, 8:31 pm, jeff wrote:
rb608 wrote:
"Tom Nakashima" wrote in message news:es9fdk$cj0

Don't get me wrong, I not one who catches fish every time I go out, I
really have to work at it, but I try to give myself the best opportunity
to catch a fish.

Like Tim, I'm in agreement with you all the way, except that I do enjoy a
good cigar from time to time. As for the approach (and I'm anything but a
great fisherman), I am usually very patient and stealthy as you descibe.
(and for that I owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Miller's company on Wilson's
Creek a while back.) Not only to scout out the river, but also because all
of the aspects of the experience are as valuable as the actual fishing. I'm
not there to catch fish, and I'm in no hurry to do so. I'm there to go
fishing, and the streamside observations and approach are part of that; to
be enjoyed, not rushed through. And frankly, if the trout don't like the
smell of a good Montecristo, it doesn't lessen my enjoyment of either.

Joe F.

you know...it's about time you found your way (or lost your way) back
down here again. this life moves and expires much too fast not to think
about slowing it down with a bit of good fishing. there are some other
places in western nc i think you should see. i'm sure you'll enjoy
smoking that stogie while chasing the great mystery in carolina...

sometimes "a cigar is just a cigar"... but, the trout are so much more
important. "coldly indifferent...like life itself...sudden wonder,
relentless mystery...a beat of heart and blood and bone beyond the
normal geography of language" (or cigars). [harry middleton]

jeff (goin shad fishin tomorrow...the run has started.)

Spoke with Joel and Wayne earlier this evening. Both have decided not
to participate in the WI early season opener tomorrow......prior
commitments.....um.....or something.

The mystery heeds not, nor cares.

Just came in from shovelling by the cold light of the full moon,
clearly and preternaturally visible through the falling, swirling snow
on a cloudless and blustery pre-spring evening.

Cullen is unimpressed by the conundrum. He knows that picas lurk
nearby and shows a single-minded devotion to duty that shames those of
us who worry the ragged bones of work, family, home and hearth. He
knows. He speaks to me.

I listen. I have learned.

The wind speaks. I listen.

The call is faint, nearly smothered by the howling of the silver maple
(how apt that moniker seemed in the freezing rain yesterday!) tree in
the back yard and the crunching of tires on cold snow out front, but
there it is. It is coming out of the west at about 30 miles per hour
and I can't quite make out what it is saying.

I'll be heading out at about 5:00 to see if I can get closer and hear
it better.

Wolfgang
who supposes it will be old news.....but hey, there are some stories
we just never tire of.