The bird has been eaten and the relatives are seeing our driveway in their rear-view mirrors, and while holidays are always hectic, this might be the first in recent memory when fly fishing wasn’t even a blip on the radar.
That, of course, flies in the face of common sense; in what I’ll call one of the Upper Sacramento River’s Dirty Little Secrets, the October Caddis bite remains pretty good through the middle of December.
That means big fish on big dries, which is something I don’t take lightly.
Still, family get-togethers are rare things at the Trout Underground/Man Cave World Headquarters, and with Little M now racing around the house on two legs, it’s clear a new World Order has taken over.
Thus, does life nudge us forward.
The Turkey Talks, We Cringe
My Thanksgiving sadness extends beyond the lack of river time; in a move sure to disappoint the legions of Undergrounders, I must admit slightly undercooking the turkey on our charcoal Weber, despite producing perfect birds on several prior occasions.
In other words, I failed charcoal huggers everywhere.
I could recycle the same excuses widely employed for fly fishing (too hot, too cold, too many people lifting the lid/wading the river, etc), but all I can say is the fire just didn’t burn hot enough long enough.
I hang my head in shame.
The Word Count
More startling is this admission: I haven’t written a word in days.
In some ways, that bothers me more than the lack of fly fishing. I’m a writer by trade, and the absence of a little daily keyboard abuse raises alarms of every kind.
Never fear Undergrounders; two nearly finished posts are waiting the in the wings, and you’ll see them shortly.
The world my be spinning faster than it did ten years ago (OK, maybe it just seems that way), but we’re still on this horse.
This week, I begin teaching four nights a week for three weeks – the kind of honest workload that I simply have no stomach for. Sadly, the die is cast, and for three weeks, I’ll fill the role of hardworking, responsible educator/online marketing consultant.
Naturally, any sentence including the word “responsible” chafes the hides of fly fishers the world over, especially given that I’m not only hankering to get a little fishing in, but would love to annihilate a few more clay pigeons with the Browning, and yes, practice a little more precision shooting before the nearby range closes for the winter.
In other words – like my dinner plate on Thanksgiving – my recreational plate is also full of half-cooked goodies.
See you in the classroom, Tom Chandler.
