I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who makes time to read The View from Fish in a Barrel Pond. Some of you have been muddling through my stuff for quite a while now. Some of you found your way here via The Outdoor Blogger Network; some of you were pointed this way by friends and some of you were invited in; some of you stumbled across this blog by sheer dumb luck and liked it enough to subscribe, and most of you probably wonder sometimes just what the heck is going on around here.
As away the old year passes, I’ve been pondering an appropriate year-end wrap up. A “Best of 2011” post crossed my mind but a lot of bloggers do those. I thought about posting a list of resolutions I plan to stick to in the upcoming year but I write fiction, not lies. In the end I decided to bring 2011 to a close by looking at my Search Term stats (provided by WordPress) to see just what sorts of things attract readers to the shores of Fish in a Barrel Pond.
I was just as surprised as you by what I found and, like you, I also sometimes wonder what the heck is going on around here. Thank you all for stopping by, whatever the reason, and the very best to you in 2012.
~Quill Gordon
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We might as well just get it out of the way. The number one search term that brought eyes to these pages in 2011 — with more than twice the views of number two — is just what fans of Fish in a Barrel Pond would expect: Continue reading
As if on cue, rain started to fall shortly after I began writing A Pause in the Wobble the other day. As I wrote, the ice went from being hard, like thick glass, to something softer and more pliable, like plastic, as a giant puddle formed across its surface.
The rain that fell could only spread out across the level sheet and the mild air kept it from freezing, creating a lake on top of a lake.
(True story: I once had to transport a queen-size bed halfway across the state of Vermont and then across a mile and a half of ice on Lake Champlain. Used a pickup truck and, of course, it rained. It rained a lot. It rained so much there was six inches of water standing on the ice when we got there so I walked the entire way, slipping and splashing, looking for holes, while Mrs. Gordon and her brother followed slowly in the truck, doors open and seat belts off, just in case. Kind of like Ice Road Truckers, but with a lot more screaming. Mrs. Gordon was a little upset, too.)
The images above are just not what one would expect to see in Vermont a few days before Christmas, but as quickly as things changed the other night, they changed again last night and these are some pictures I took when I went out this morning: Continue reading
The winter solstice marks the return of lengthening days and we talk about more hours of light but, in reality, the difference between today and tomorrow will be measured in seconds. It’s a slow retreat from the darkness but those seconds add up and around here, at this time of year, we take what we can get, especially with the truly cold time still ahead.
The word “solstice” actually refers to the sun seeming to stand still, as today is essentially the same length as yesterday and yesterday was as short as the day before that. The days have been growing progressively shorter, and we know they will be growing longer, but first there is a pause. The earth wobbles on its axis, tilting us away from the sun and then back again, giving us our grand procession of seasons, and this pause is probably a good thing. If it didn’t take three full days to reverse the direction of the tilt, crash helmets and other protective gear would probably be the hot gifts of the season.
In June, the solstice days bring long, dreamy twilights and short nights that brighten into leisurely dawns. The days shorten noticeably from there — more quickly, it seems, than they lengthen from here — and thoughts of winter creep in, just like the no-see-ums of summer at the cuffs of my sleeves. It might seem strange, trying to remember where I put the snow shovel while waiting for mayflies to hatch, but it’s no stranger than thinking about then, now. Remembering June comes easily on an overcast December day that couldn’t get cranked up to much more than dim. Continue reading
(This assignment is overdue. The items in this review arrived in September, which is now known in these parts as “the month we spent cleaning up after That Bitch, Irene“. I was concerned enough when the package arrived to open it right away but it has taken until now to post my review. Excuses? Which ones do you want to hear? I’ve got a million of ’em.)
Baseball is a contest of skill. Consequently, I was no good at it, so when a contest comes along that involves nothing more than dumb chance, I’m in. Such was the case late last summer when Joe Wolf from the Outdoor Blogger Network announced he was moving and wanted to shed some of his accumulated stuff. Some sucker lucky winner would be chosen, at random, to receive a box of that stuff, which Joe promised would be appropriate. My best effort turned out to be good enough, and I won!
I was a little worried when Boogie, our Rural Mail Carrier, dropped the package at the door, my first thought being, “Oh, no! My new puppy!”
I was very relieved, but more than a little disappointed, to find the box did not contain a puppy. Continue reading
Back in the beaver ponds the ice is flat and sometimes the water level drops before it can freeze all the way across.
Most years we don’t get to see the ice like this. Most years we have snow and it’s all covered up. Continue reading
A recent post, over at Field & Stream, suggested that fly fishing is “suffering” because it is too manly, meaning not enough women are involved. The reason given for this is a lack of gear designed specifically for women, and the author suggests “we must kill the boys club mentality before it kills the sport.”
A lively discussion ensues, much of it revolving around marketing and economics, suggesting it is not the health of our sport that is in great peril; it is the Industry surrounding our sport, the folks who bring us all the latest doodads, geegaws and improved modulus ratings who have the troubles. More people must buy more stuff or our sport will die is the message.
Is targeting women the answer? Owl Jones brought up some interesting points in his post Fly Fishing is Too What?, especially “you either ARE an angler or you ARE NOT an angler”. Most gear on the market right now can be used by both men and women, just like the gear of the past, but if I have learned one thing from reading these discussions it is that a small fortune awaits the person who designs waders that don’t make butts look big.
The Fly Fishing Industry can not sustain unlimited growth; the resource certainly wouldn’t allow it, even if every man, woman, and child could somehow be persuaded to buy a rod, get off their ass and go fishing. The Fly Fishing Industry is not fly fishing and if fly fishing needs more of a less “manly” feel it is not because there is money to be made by targeting an underserved demographic.
With the question(s) of why/if fly fishing needs more women in mind, it seemed appropriate today to make a run over the mountain, to Manchester, for another viewing of A Graceful Rise: Women in Fly Fishing Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow at the American Museum of Fly Fishing.
I told myself the other day that, with not more than 5/8 of the lake surface frozen, there was still plenty of time left to fish. I told myself the next morning I should have fished the day before.
More excitement, torn from the pages of the Woodstock Early Bird!
In an awareness-raisng example of Vermont’s long political tradition, strong “back and forth” broke out today as A Dozen Turn Out for “Occupy Woodstock”.
And late last week, thousands were left without power because some skwerl was monkeying around: Squirrel Shock Causes Power Outage”.
I like Woodstock and whenever I head there for a visit I make sure to go through Proctorsville and Cavendish so I can stop by Singleton’s General Store on the way, just in case.
There was a time when I watched ice form with great interest, knowing I was stranded on an island until it was thick enough to cross (On Thin Ice). Now I watch ice form with great interest because it is so interesting to watch.
Calm, clear days give way to clear, cold nights and the stillness starts to settle in. Three weeks of progressively shorter days lie ahead — and the cold will surely deepen — but for now winter’s grip is tentative and weak.
I wouldn’t try walking across it just yet. Continue reading