chapter 1: bh = p
I realized something of great phonic importance this evening as I struggled to stay awake on my drive home from Brookville. I realized that if you pronounce the 'h' in 'Bhudda', it sounds like you're saying pooda. Of course then I realized that you don't spell the name of the Buddha 'bhudda'.
This thing of great phonic importance was on my mind because Ben, one of my now slightly less-new housemates (story at 6!), who you may remember from such classic posts as "the friday ramble" and "halloween 2006"! introduced me to a singer/songwriter by the name of Mason Jennings. I really like Mason Jennings. Another activity that kept me awake on the drive was thinking about all the people he reminds me of: Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, a little bit of Jack Johnson for the kids, G-Love, and I swear to god Matthew Mcconaughey. But I also think Mason Jennings has his own style and it's hard to describe, but his melodies are particularly distinct, lots of small steps. Great melodies. And the way he blends the fantastic and metaphorical with mundane, modern life, e.g. "I went in to twelve bookstores looking for Ulysses, Motherwell led me to believe all my questions would be answered, Now i have it here sitting on the table, Another word for the universe, Loose green tea and a bonsai tree, an underground apartment, Check my e-mail and wash my clothes while my rice is cooking, Oh jesus christ, how I hate making phonecalls". Good stuff.
Chapter 2: we're on the watch list
Had a big party on Friday night. Good times, good times. I got very drunk and was quite "jolly", according to Grant, my other new housemate (story at 6!), that you may remember from such classic posts as "NYC Mayhem" and "holy shit I'm a slacker and my understanding of Indianapolis is still fucking iron clad bitches". And that's not all! For the same low, low price you can also read about Grant The Other New Housemate in that new new goodie mob "native brown trout and bovey tracy too!"!
Well, the cops came at 12:15am and issued myself and the housemates (story at 6!) $50 tickets and about half the party left. Which is actually a good thing because they wouldn't have all fit in the house. Cracking down. First weekend. Cops were younger than me. Everytime they have to come back this year the fine increases. $100 the first time. Up to $1000 fucking dollars. What a scam.
But I'm not going to rant about this mistreatment here despite the myriad ways injustice was served. People at the party voluntarily took up a collection and we have enough money to pay all the tickets. Which is pretty freaking cool. Good people here in Bloomington. Good people. Someone also put a blunt in the collection jar. Feels funny to type 'blunt' so bluntly. Get it? That's ambiguity kids. And use/mention distinction all in the same sentence. It will be on the first exam. Study hard.
Chapter 3: it could be worse, at least I'm not a Michigan fan
Suffice it to say that watching Michigan football at the bar with [EDITED] is a risky proposition, particularly when they lose. Particularly when they lose to Appalachian State. He was three or four shots of Wild Turkey deep at half time and by the fourth quarter was berating a fellow Michigan fan at the next table for not "believing hard enough," slurrily threatening to "stab him in the heart with this fucking knife" (holding butter knife in air, making stabbing motion). Needless to say I got the hell out of dodge as soon as the clock ticked down to 0:00. No reason to get involved with what would surely be an ugly scene.
Chapter 4: southern Indiana sunrise, fly fishing in the heart of America
Left for Brookville today at 6:00am and watched the sunrise over cornfields in the glorious very early fall weather. A swollen blood orange fresh squeezed rich fuzzy velvet red juices dripping and bleeding onto the horizon as the half-crispy tall corn stalks stood guard by the highway for miles (I also came up with this last sentence on the drive to stay awake).
The Tricos were hatching, the hoppers were hopping and the tailwater called my name with its sweet siren song from across the state: "come waste a day with me Matthew, we know you're addicted to fishing". Indeed.
I caught somewheres around 10 fish which isn't so good for 11.5 hours of fishing, but I did take an hour break for a turkey sandwich and carrots. But still, the fishing was slow. The water is extremely low and the fish are extremely selective. They were feeding voraciously all day long but only occasionally deigned to sip my offerings. The Tricos were coming off but they didn't want the females I tied. Perhaps they were too big? #18 and #20 were probably too big. Perhaps the parachute style wasn't right? The tails were probably too long. So many variables. I tried the flat wing spinners to no success and they're just so freaking hard to see. Luckily I tied two all-black #24 flies and they liked those good enough. But fishing for good-sized browns with #24 flies and 7x tippet means two flies aren't going to last very long. And they didn't. But luckily I managed one fat pig of a brownie before I broke the second one off. The Brookville tailwater is going to hold some very large fish if things stay on track for the next few years.
I caught most of the others on #24 parachute ants (yes I'm way into tying parachute style dry flies these days, they just look cooler than the standard Catskill style) and a tiny, #28?, rainbow-sparkle midge emerger thing that a guide in Colorado gave me this summer to use in the lakes in the mountains for the Greenbacks. Only had one and broke it off as well. I also tied a bunch of Turck's Tarantulas for grasshopper imitations and broke one of them off on what seemed like a very large fish. That was early this morning and they showed no interest in that gangly, behemoth of a fly for the rest of the day. Grant was worried the Tarantula might scare the fish. Maybe that was it?
So I'm getting to the point with my fly tying where I think I'll try taking some pictures and posting them here. A new stage in the addiction? Photographing your flies? It's a slippery, slippery slope folks. Best to just stay off it altogether.
A #24 parachute ant pattern I tied. I like using just thread for the body of such a small ant and the fish seemed to like it pretty ok.
A #20 (?) female parachute Trico I tied. Tails are long.
A #6 Turck's Tarantula I tied. Spun deer hair heads look much better before you chuck around through the air, slappin' the water, etc. Now it looks like I deliberately shaped it to look like a dog's head.
The fat pig brown trout and its rippling blubber. Maybe she's full of eggs? That would rule. I hope I didn't mess that up. I'm not sure when Brown trout spawn in Indiana tailwaters. My giant paw and tree limb forearm make this trout look smaller than it really is I think. I'm just sayin. Click for bigger.
Hello little buddy.
Caught a nice rainbow which is a bit of an unlikely bonus as you're allowed to take up to five a day and most have gone the way of worm and bobber fisher dinner. Say that five times fast. Worm and bobber fisher dinner.
Ahhh trout fishing in picturesque Indiana. This is just below the dam. Obviously. Most of the river is actually bearable what with the trees and more or less natural banks. But this section is loaded with fish. Note the rise.
Now let's make some fun and easy fish art! Here's how: release fish and photograph under riffly water in full sunlight. Voila! Poppin' fresh dough! Click all for bigger.
The last one is my favorite. Make sure to check it out full size, particularly the top of the photo. It kind of blew my mind. Dude.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
chapter 1: bh = p