Posts Tagged With: quill gordon

Dead Flies

With a fairly steady stream of anglers plying the waters of Fish in a Barrel Pond I find flies everywhere. I pick them up and if they are intact I add them to my boxes. If not, I keep them anyway. Mangled and broken, tattered and frayed, shredded and unwound, dropped, stepped on and left behind, it sometimes seems that I accumulate as many un-fishable flies as good ones. I find them in boats, on the ground in the parking lot and stuck in the nap of rugs at the doors of the camps. No fly lasts forever.

Most people wouldn’t give these worthless bits of feather, hair and thread a second look but I just can’t throw them away or leave them behind, rusting away to nothing.

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Categories: Fly Fishing, Humor, Rural Life | Tags: , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Slow Evening on the Pond

The air is warm, the water is warm, and the fishing is, well, slow. During the day the trout are hunkered down, hanging around spring holes and the feeder streams where the little dribbles of cool water still flow in (boy oh boy, do we need rain). In the evening a few small pods of fish move around, sipping mayflies and other insects blown in by the warm breeze, but a summer’s worth of fishing pressure has made sneaking up on individual fish and groups of cruisers difficult. They’ve been educated and shy away from the boat. Long, accurate, delicate casts are the only way to hook up. 

I can do long, I can do accurate, and I can do delicate but all three at once is asking a bit much so I spend a fair amount of time just sitting, watching and waiting. Here’s some of what I saw on the pond two nights ago:

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Categories: Fly Fishing, Loons, nature, Rural Life | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Mouse Pie

 

The leaves are turning, early it seems, and around here that means more people from other places will be showing up to see them.  Every small town and village tries to get those people to stop, linger and spend money by hosting craft fairs, food fests, art shows, etc. and ours is no exception. My friend Eugene and his pal Purly are looking to get in on the action with a booth on the green where they can offer up real, honest to goodness Vermont food, educate folks about a different way of life and maybe make a few bucks along the way, even though their first experience with food and outsiders didn’t go very well (see “Eugene, Purly and Chef Gordon Ramsay“).

When Eugene stopped by this week, searching for ingredients, I was happy to help. Unfortunately, he and Purly originally wanted to serve up Teriyaki Beaver on a Stick but beaver season doesn’t start until November and all I had to offer was a couple of frozen hind quarters (freshness is of utmost importance). They were, however, able to come up with an authentic recipe they could use and for which I can provide ingredients in abundance. It’s a win-win, as they say. Continue reading

Categories: Humor, Rural Life, Stories About My Good Friend, Eugene, Vermont | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Loonacy

[This is as good a time as any to note that there are six camps scattered along the shores of Fish in a Barrel Pond, each named after one legendary fly or another. They are, in no particular order, the Parmacheene Belle, Gray Ghost, Queen of the Waters, Cahill, Coachman and Mickey Finn (an acknowledging wink to the Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society’s long tradition of fiery potations and mind-numbing concoctions). The names were chosen by a specially appointed committee charged with choosing from a list of suggestions submitted by the membership.

Certain members were against naming the camps when the issue came up for a vote, not so many years ago (one camp burned to the ground without a name, way back when — see “The Conflagration at Green Damselfly Cove”) and an attempt was made to turn the decision into one the membership would regret. If they had succeeded in stacking the committee in their favor I could very well have just introduced you to the Bitch Creek Nymph, Rat Face McDougal, Quack Doctor, Golden Monkey, Cow Dung and Ethel May.]

The sounds of the loon stir something primal, deep within all of us (see “Sadly Mistaken“), or at least they used to. More and more, as phone signals and broadband coverage improve, I see people mesmerized by the little boxes they carry, looking at each other and themselves but not what’s right in front of them or yakking away about things that, when you stop to really think about them, probably don’t merit a phone call in the first place and I am a bit concerned.

Never again do I want to hear a person say, “Can’t something be done to shut those birds up? I’m trying to talk here!”

I would, however, like very much to hear, again and again, “Quill, I dropped my phone off the dock. Can you fish it out for me?” because I would say “NO! Firstly, that ain’t fishin’ and lastly, I’m glad you dropped it. Might do you some good to be bored out of your frickin’ skull for a week, you spoiled little …” Continue reading

Categories: +The Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society, Humor, Loons, nature | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Eugene and the Dangers of Shatter Proof Glass

When word got out, a couple of weeks ago, that I was going to make the 30 mile drive to the closest thing we’ve got to a city around  here, my friend Eugene jumped at the chance to tag along. He must have jumped, although he could have dropped from a tree for all I know, into the bed of my truck just past Peavy Flat, where the road narrows and you have to slow down so as to not run over Purly Coutermarche’s dogs. By the time I noticed him back there it was too late to turn around and take him home so I agreed he could come, but because I didn’t want to get a ticket for having a passenger in the bed of a truck on the highway I covered him with a tarp and told him to stay out of sight. Continue reading

Categories: Humor, Stories About My Good Friend, Eugene, Vermont | Tags: , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Looking for Trouble

So there I was, sitting on the dam with a cup of coffee, watching the ice melt and searching for signs of spring when I saw something swimming in the open water along the west shore. It ducked beneath the ice before I could focus on it but a moment later it surfaced less than 20 feet away and I could see it was a young beaver, striking out on its own, looking for a place to set up shop.

I watched as it followed the shoreline, working its way through the ice floes and, as it swam along the east shore of Fish in a Barrel Pond, I had a feeling I knew exactly where it was headed. My suspicions were confirmed the next morning.

Last spring, with some help from the state, I installed a “beaver baffle”  in a dam along one of the roads I maintain. You can read about it HERE. The baffle allows water to flow through the beaver dam and the theory is that the beavers will never figure out that they are losing water through the large pipe twenty feet back from the dam. It worked well and the water level stayed where I wanted it but then the resident beavers got ambitious and began expanding their empire into territory strictly off-limits to beavers. If only they had stayed where they were.

Their removal worked out pretty well for this new, young beaver. He (we’re assuming it’s a he) turned the corner, followed the outlet of the pond and wound up in what must seem to be a beaver paradise. The little guy doesn’t have to do a thing! There’s already a dam in place, an abandoned lodge, and there are several stashes of food his predecessors never got back to. What luck!

The thing about beavers, though, is that they can’t just sit there and enjoy what they have. They must work, work, work, and this particular beaver is no exception. It didn’t take him long to start “improving” what he’d found. Scooping, digging and pushing, he has undertaken an expansion of the dam which, with the baffle in place, would normally not be a problem. 

Normally.

I won’t say he’s any smarter than any other beaver. Maybe another beaver would do the same thing, blindly doing what comes naturally. Maybe another beaver would lift a twelve inch pipe (full of water, no less!) up out of the muck and pack debris underneath. Maybe another beaver would shove a four foot wide cage made of stock fence from its place, even moving cinder blocks with it. Maybe another beaver would try to add a six foot culvert pipe just downstream to his holdings. I just don’t know what another beaver would do but this one is starting to make me mad. 

Categories: nature, Rural Life, Vermont | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Eugene, Purly and Chef Gordon Ramsay

It is not uncommon in these parts to run into a celebrity from time to time. Most stay below the radar, preferring to not call attention to themselves, but others cause quite a ruckus. It should come as no surprise that one such recent folderol should involve my good friend Eugene.

Eugene has been wintering with his pal Purly, at Purly’s place above the swamp on the far side of Peavy Flat off Lower Skunk Hollow Road. It’s a cozy arrangement and it works well for them, which is good because otherwise he would be staying here with me. He stopped by the other day — to “borrow” something — and he filled me in on the goings-on over the hill. When he told me about the “cocky little British guy” he and Purly had run off he had no idea who he was talking about but, considering the details, it was clear to me he could only be describing Gordon Ramsay, famous chef, restauranteur and television star. Continue reading

Categories: Stories About My Good Friend, Eugene | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

A Post Card from Quill

It’s that awkward, in-between time when the calendar says “spring” but the weather ain’t so sure. The transition is easier some years than others (see “Driven to Distraction“) but no matter how politely winter bows out, she’s bound to throw in some kind of cheap parting shot that makes you glad the long-johns are still handy. The temperature at 6:00 a.m. this morning was 4F here at Fish in a Barrel Pond.

So, how has old Quill been whiling away the time as he waits for spring? Continue reading

Categories: +Uncategorized | Tags: , , | 1 Comment

The Fish on the Wall

One hot August day, back before we knew computers could handle years beginning with “2”, Dr. Marcus Feely hooked the largest trout to ever come out of Fish in a Barrel Pond. The Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society had never hung a fish on its walls, choosing not to emphasize trophies, but Dr. Feely insisted. He even paid for the mounting himself and bought the impressive brass plaque that hangs beneath it, engraved with his name, the date and the names of four men listed as witnesses. Sooner or later, whether you want him to or not, Doc Feely will tell you all about that fish. Continue reading

Categories: +The Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society, Fly Fishing, Humor | Tags: , , , , , | 1 Comment

After The Thaw

The best ice forms when it’s cold. Thus spake Quill Gordon, Chronicler of the Obvious, but we’re not just talking cold here. We’re talking real cold, where boogers freeze and snow squeaks under foot. The kind of cold where an unprotected finger feels like it’s been sliced by a razor and ears like they’ve been set afire. Cold made all the more shocking by following on the heels of a warm January thaw. 

On Monday it was 50 degrees and pouring rain. Today it’s impossible to tell how cold it is — because the thermometer disappeared last night in the wind — and dry arctic air continues to assert its dominance by slamming into everything at 40 miles per hour. Except for wool trousers, which it sails right on through. Continue reading

Categories: nature, Vermont | Tags: , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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