The calm days stand out around here, if for no other reason than the profound silence that descends. Straining to hear the pulse of the water, like listening for a heartbeat late at night, not even a gentle ripple laps the shore.
Shadows creep northward and the lowering sun angles through the first icy haze of the season, creating sun dogs, which are kind of like rainbows but much, much colder.
The fog and rain cleared out at the end of the second day as dry, chilly air moved in, and the hillsides lit up in the gloaming. Continue reading
Some people could use a good knock-knock-knock on the forehead to get them to stop for a few minutes, take a good look around, and see what happens when nothing happens. They get so wrapped up in themselves and the things they consider important that they forget where they are and why they are there, missing the good stuff — those small, quiet moments of near-perfection and beauty that pass quickly, often un-noticed.
I nearly knocked myself silly, this past week, before finally picking up a camera and stepping out to enjoy my favorite time of year. Now, to tie myself to a chair and force myself to post some of the pictures I took …
The members of the Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society are wonderful people, each and every one a shining example of virtue and sportsmanship. Go ahead; ask them yourself. They’ll tell you. It’s those other guys that are the problem.
I don’t think the trout of Fish in a Barrel Pond really give a carp one way or the other. All men are equal before trout, as the saying goes, so as another season of fishing comes to an end, with the slopes of Nonesuch Mountain bathed a gaudy, autumnal glow, I take a moment to reflect on the ways of both people and fish, circa 2012. Continue reading
While driving from camp to camp, gathering garbage and used linens yesterday morning, I saw what I believe to be an immature bald eagle in a dead tree down by the swamp and got out to take a couple of quick pictures.
Eagles never look particularly happy about anything but this one seemed especially grumpy. It didn’t take long to figure out why.
It can’t be easy, trying to get a little rest with robins bouncing off the back of your head.
WWQGD?
What Would Quill Gordon Do?
When the workday is through, and he has a choice, do you suppose he would choose A):
or B):
The correct answer, of course, is “B” but sometimes it is “C” which involves falling asleep in a large, comfortable recliner like normal people.
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Q & A
Question: “Quill, if I just give you some money will you take me out and show me how to fish this darn lake?”
Answer: “No.”
Question: “Quill, would you like to go fishing with me?”
Answer: “Oh, yes! That would be delightful.” Continue reading
At Town Meeting, back on the 6th, I was told Mud Season would begin on the 7th.
A protracted spell of unseasonable warmth made it even deeper and more tenacious than usual and, two and a half weeks later, it’s still not over. Entire dump truck loads of stone continue to disappear in the slop.
While several feet of saturated road bed thawed in the warm spring sun this week, the ice on the lake remained thick, but not to be trusted.
Fish in a Barrel Pond, March 22, 2012, 6:30 p.m.:
Fish in a Barrel Pond, March 23, 2012, 6:30 a.m.:
An early riser:
(At the top of this page is a tab that reads “Contact Quill” which will bring up a form you can use to send old Quill an email. A few readers have actually used it, and I’d like to share with you some of the notes I have received.)
*****
Dear Quill,
I subscribed to your blog, but this is not at all what I had in mind and now I regret my decision. How do I make the email notifications stop?
Signed, Disgruntled in Denver
Dear Disgruntled,
I am sorry to hear you are no longer gruntled, but how do you think I feel, having to look at it every darn day? Take a look at the bottom of your email notification; there should be a link that says “Unsubscribe”. Click it and follow the directions, and you will never again be notified that impotant pieces like “Careful With That Axe, Eugene“, “A Craft Project With My Friend, Eugene“, or “Eugene and the Dangers of Shatter Proof Glass” have been foisted upon an unsuspecting readership proudly published. ~QG
Otter, Fish in a Barrel Pond 3/10/12
*****
Dear Quill,
L.L. Bean’s very special Spring Fishing Expo and 100th Anniversary Celebration is this weekend. We’ll give you ten thousand dollars to stay away.
Signed, Freeport Chamber of Commerce
Dear Freeport Chamber of Commerce,
Your offer is tempting but, as much as I wanted to be there for what is sure to be a great weekend (including fly tying demonstrations by Don Bastian, a man with many stories that somehow involve him in his underwear, by the way), I must send my regrets for free. You see, I will be staying away for reasons of love.
My love of anglers.
I try to pretend I am an angler, just like everybody else, but I am not. I am an angler who, when others act on the urge to get away from it all, greets them when they arrive. I clean up after them when they leave, and then, on Sunday afternoon, I try to catch fish in a lake that has been whipped to a froth by them since Friday evening. I also take their reservations, which for the past month have been carefully regulated for fairness (only x number of nights per month, etc.). Starting March 16th, however, those rules are relaxed and anything goes. Someone must be here when they call, and that someone is I.
Freeport is safe this year, as I take one for the team, so everyone who can make it should attend. And be sure to say “Hi” to Don — he’s really starting to get the hang of tying those flies! ~QG Continue reading
(A certain angler in Georgia asked yesterday, “How’s the mud crop look this year?”
Ha ha.)
At Town Meeting on Tuesday, our village’s road foreman told me “mud season starts tomorrow,” which was almost amusing, considering the fact that, as I walked to town that morning, it was still just 10 degrees outside.
Tomorrow then is yesterday now, and he was right. Mud season has begun, and it looks like it’s going to be a good one.
One thing I have learned at Town Meeting over the years is that, if one is requesting funds, one should not place a series of question marks where a dollar sign and some numbers should be. I absofreakinglutely guarantee someone will stand up, waving their town report in the air, and shout, “I ain’t votin’ to put no tax dollars to no damn question marks!” It’s all over when that happens.
That might work in the big city, but you’ll get called on it every time at Town Meeting. It also helps if the wording of your request reflects what you describe in your supporting documents. We’re kind of picky that way, wanting to know just what we’re getting into.
We used printed paper ballots for a school district consolidation question, as well as for our Presidential primary votes. Somewhere is a stack of ballots that have been set aside, to be counted later, because they were defaced on Tuesday, vandalized by citizens who just couldn’t follow instructions. I am sure the Secretary of State has dealt with these things before, but his staff must slowly shake their heads after every election as they go through these ballots. I don’t know how many there are, but it’s a pretty sure thing that more than a few of my neighbors saw the section of the ballot marked “DO NOT WRITE IN THIS SPACE” and took the time to write “I WRITE WHERE I PLEASE!”.
Another Town Meeting tip: when you have had your say and the Moderator replies, “That is an opinion, not a motion,” don’t stand there like a deer in the headlights! Look the Moderator square in the eye, say “Damn right it is!” and sit down. That’s what I do, anyway.
One of the final items of the day on Tuesday was our town’s highway budget. Even if our road foreman hadn’t already warned of the impending mud, his proposed budget would have been changed when the villagers got a hold of it. We changed it, alright. We motioned, seconded, and approved a little raise for our road crew because they do a heck of a job with what they have to deal with. Without them, how else would our mail get through?
The View from Fish in a Barrel Pond 