A Day to Remember. Again

Yesterday we went to the Johnstown Swapper's Day meet. It is always entertaining. Always eye opening. Always the same, but always different. It had rained most of the night Friday, not torrential, no downpour, just a constant, light drizzle, and the day was cloudy, and cool. With a chance of rain in the forecast for the afternoon we decided to risk the trip and head to the the sale. It was a lot more crowded than we thought it would be. 

I am not sure what they do at the Sportsman Association when they're not having Swappers Day, but it is a huge place, asphalt paths big enough for a car run through the property. It is 190 acres according to the website. As numbers go that is a big one, but as a reference it is meaningless to a person raised on measurements in blocks. And I coldn't tell you how many blocks could be laid end to end in the area, because we wander from place to place, stopping, looking, backtracking, looking again.  We walked over 9,000 steps as measured by iPhone.

It always surprises me how many people are carrying guns. I think they are trying to sell them, or maybe just bought them. There was an older couple, maybe late sixties, or early seventies pushing an umbrella stroller that had two rifles, a compound bow, and some pistols. I don't know how many, staring at people with enough weaponry to outfit an infantry squad seems foolish. And the Amish people carrying rifles, hunting rifles, rifles that seemed, to my limited knowledge, to fall into the "assault weapon" classification. Pacifism no more. Spend a little time walking the rows and paths of Swapper's Day and you quickly understand "excuse me" is no longer a popular notion. It has been replaced by the silent push, and press. 

In the time I have been there, three years in a row, I have only seen one potential sale take place. Yesterday, a man said "hey, are you trying to sell those?" Pointing to a pair of wicked looking revolvers. I waited for the "or are you just happy to see me?" Which never came. The comic potential destroyed I walked away before the dealing began.

As we rounded the curving, slightly erratic line of vendor's tents was the rotor blade of a helicopter. My wife said she had stopped by to look at it last year. It was UH-1 Huey from Bell Helicopter. It was a display that traveled to various places. I asked why she didn't take me.

"You had probably wandered off somewhere." She said, then she relayed a conversation she had with our youngest son.

"Why do you let him do that?" He had asked. "Just let him wander off like that?" I was a little insulted, but as a five year old he made me hold his hand in parking lots so I wouldn't get run over. At the time I thought he did it as a joke, maybe not, though.

We went and looked at the helicopter. It was from the Vietnam war, it was one of the early models, a UH1-A, I think he said. It was a profound moment. It was so small, there were seats for seven including the pilot. Flimsy looking nylon benches were supported by what looked like aluminum tubing, it looked so finite, skimpy. The shell was thin, almost fragile. One of the exhibitors took me around and showed the patches where bullets had torn through the beer can skin. I said "it looks so small." He explained the letter suffix designation, and how the machine had stretched and changed over time to carry more soldiers and door gunners. But, this was one of the early ones. 

I remembered the lines from Apocalypse Now in an exchange between Martin Sheen and Robert Duvall. Duvall's character said, "Air Cav, son, Airmobile." And Sheen's narration explained how the cavalry had "traded in their horses for choppers and went tear assin' around Nam looking for the shit." And they had done it in something so oddly beautiful, so awkwardly graceful, so tragically insignificant as the small machine sitting in front of me. 

I remembered the book Dispatches by Micheal Herr, and his description of the terror he felt the first time the helicopter he was in took fire. Someone hammering on the side of a helicopter flying at 2,000 feet.¹ It was striking to stand so close to something that had carried so many terrified men into a jungle screaming with anger, fear and death. I couldn't help but think of the words of Isaiah Berlin "liberty for wolves is death to the lambs." 

It had been deployed between 1967 and 1971, a time of vicious fighting, fear, pain and death. The time of Khe Shan, the Tet Offensive. Long after any illusion of guerilla warfare had drained away. I don't know where this little helicopter had been stationed, I didn't ask, but it had seen some action, the patches served as ample proof.

It was a great day, we had a good time, had some good food, and did not get rained on, even a little.. Life can be tough, and sometimes working and living require so much time you overlook the important things. Like how oddly right my wife and I are for each other. Wandering through a huge yard sale, looking at the tables filled with the flotsam of life, I was reminded how close we are. There were times it seemed as if we were the only people there, she was the only thing I could see.

I did find a wide brimmed, floppy hat for kayaking for $5.00. And since I am such a compulsive, uncontrollable, easily influenced sort I bought a small tackle box for $1.00. It was a little broken, and needs some work, similar to life, I suppose, but it was my first step toward the lofty position of  Kayak Fisherman, a big, inexpensive first step. I am that much closer. 

Adventures are everywhere, stories wait at every turn. Next week, 2 1/2 days, we are off to Lake Hope, and a new adventure, on kayaks, at the Moonville Tunnel, in Athens, OH, just the two of us, our two kayaks, and the threat of a guest appearance by our sons, we had better take some extra food. Just a coming attractions.

¹ I don't really remember the height. Just the terror he felt, and the dread he described.

Fishing and Other Monday Problems.

While Tim is off taking a class on Self Editing it seemed like an ideal time to stop by and tell you how much he needed a class on Self Editing. He could use it as a writer, and as a person. Get a couple of bourbons or even a couple of cups of coffee and he can go on and on about the minute differences between the hazards of flying and the danger of commuting.

After a while I was afraid to get in the car. I didn't say anything about it, because he has some startling statistics on the number of pedestrians involved in accidents. There is a small folder sitting inside his pedestrian collision folder detailing the number of people who had collisions with cows while walking. It seems most of them were walking in fields, but he says that counts, and it is his folder.

And don't even get him started on luxury cruises. Unless you have the time, inclination and nutritional requirements to set through the Power Point presentation. He seems to believe the Bermuda Triangle is actually more of a sphere, from one pole to the other and covering every body of water, including Lake Maloney, in North Platte, NE. It is one more reason to hate climate change.

It is hard to imagine the good he could have done if he would have worked that hard in school, if he would have used his power for good instead of evil.

Well, my day is almost done, the parts have been cut, and assembled, the bills have been posted, and the sunshine is calling my name. I am off to the Lake for a little fishing and relaxing, thank goodness I am the world's worst fisherman, it is a lot more relaxing if you don't catch anything. Don't believe everything you read, unless you read it here, would we lie to you.

Is that a new Kayak or are you just glad to see me?

Last night, despite a rational, normal, completely healthy fear of water and a deep seated, logical hatred for boats, I bought a kayak. Why? Let me tell you. Actually, I don't know why. As hard as I have tried I can't explain it. I have wanted a Kayak for years. I told my neighbor, who works at Cabela's to keep his eye open and he said "I have one in the Bargain Cave."

It was less than half price. It was less than half price, and it is a beauty. It is 11 foot long, and has a places for fishing poles. There is webbing and a covered hole in the middle for stuff, and some pockets, and things that are too complicated to explain to a bunch of landlubbers. But, there are some serious nautical accessories on this bad boy.

And it makes me feel a little like Conrad or Melville, or Coleridge. And I want to say things like "the starboard swain is lobbed with brine and Doubloons, and we need to make waves, me hearty." But, I don't, at least not yet.

It would probably be wise to wait until I have actually put the thing in water and sat inside it before I start "swapping the poop, matey."

Ohio requires kayaks to be licensed. In fact, if you read the ODNR propaganda almost anything that floats needs to be licensed. And I do want to buy a flotation device, a good one, a flotation device that will withstand a Mark 48 torpedo strike. If you know of a life vest built to survive a nuclear incident and costs less than $50.00 please send me a link. It will be a few days until we take our inaugural voyage.

Until then we are going to have a little contest. A Name the Kayak contest. Think, with all the intellectual muscle you can muster of a name for this little beauty. Then either put it in the comments, or email me at Tim@thewhacko.com, or tweet me timclark_tweets, or post it on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/lifedidyounotice/, or send a smoke signal, flash it in semaphore, this is going to be pretty relaxed.

The winner gets the satisfaction of a job well done. The runner up gets the satisfaction of a job almost well done. Third place entrant gets to know that they weren't the worst, unless there are only three entries, of course. Try to avoid names like SS Sinking, Deep Six, Widow Maker, or Wow, is that guy stupid, please. Have a little fun, and be creative, you could be the BIG WINNER.

Fishing, it is not for everybody, or maybe anybody.

Saturday, round two, us against the fish. And we answered the bell. Armed with a PDF map of the reservoir, a youtube video explaining the optimal knot for attaching a lure, and the hopes and dreams of untold generations of ancestors. Ancestors who braved the elements to provide sustenance for their family. Ancestors who carried a cooler with a couple of ice cold bottles of water, Dasani or Aqua Fina, our ancestors would never settle for store brands. On top of the bottled water was blue ice, pioneered by hard working ancestors to keep their bottled water cold, ingenious people our ancestors.

Of course, no fishing trip would be complete without some snacks on top of the magical blue ice and its mystical properties of coolness. We took Gold Fish crackers, just to spite the fish, and of course a small bag of bite sized Oreo's, for dessert, dessert is so important.

After carefully choosing our starting spot, we parked the car, (after driving through a mud puddle, which is fine, I have four wheel drive vehicle, it was kind of an accident, I picked out a car with the features I wanted (blue tooth, so I don't have to listen to the radio, or plug in my phone) and it happened to be four wheel drive, so mud puddles don't scare me, very much) and hiked down to the shore, which was a lot closer than it should have been.  Due to the above average rainfall the lake was at an above average height, or depth, or however it is said.  We fished for a while but there was little room for casting, standing or us.

We hopped in the car, locked in the 4 wheel drive (just kidding, we were right by the highway) and moved on to the next place. It was near a bridge, and it looked promising. It had a wide bay on one side of the bridge, the shore was lined with giant rocks, to prevent erosion. Which should make excellent cover for fish, who want to hide, dart out grab a quick bite and duck back undercover (kind of like people who have spent the evening drinking and want a burrito before going home).  At least that was my theory, and since it was the only theory we had it seemed wise.

Unfortunately, the bay was wide and to keep people safe, even people with 4 wheel drive, the road was lined with a guard rail, and parking was waaaayyyy down at the end. But, that never stopped our hungry, determined ancestors, or us. We got out, grabbed our poles, tackle and cooler and we were off.  There was a narrow path through what appeared to be an ancient rain forest, filled with ticks carrying terrible, potentially lethal illness, so we opted to walk the miles down the side of the road back to the rocks.

Once there, after about 2 hours, we scrambled down the rocks, which is as close to death as I ever want to get. We stood there, under the withering rays of the sun, baking, casting, retrieving, sweating, and cursing the enemy, the fish. Oh, they were out there, we saw them jumping, and heard their insults. "Hey, mammal, you look warm, and sweaty, and kind of stupid."

We fished and we had fun and we some cold water and we will be back, fish. Next time will be different, we will have some cans of pop, or soda, or cola, (you choose) with our water, and you will not be so lucky.

Thursday, and there is so much to do.

Since it is Thursday it is time to start planning our weekend expedition.  Careful planning insures a successful fishing trip. People don't plan to fail, they fail to plan, after all. Starting with the all knowing, all seeing, all powerful fisherman's friend, the internet, it was a simple matter to find that the lake that seemed so barren so desolate, so lifeless last week actually has fish. It seems that fish are routinely taken out of the muddy, smelly water. Huh, go figure. But, according to the modern Oracle of Delphi, the world wide web, there is a great fishing spot less than a mile north of our last location.  Great.

Step 1, find a new spot, check.

Fishing is like riding a bicycle, you don't forget how, but it takes a while to get comfortable enough to ride in traffic. Fishing is like that, without the likelihood of being run over, or coasting into a tree. Thrill seekers, don't despair. If you are a little careless there is always the possibility of falling into the lake. Since it is fairly shallow by the shore drowning is probably not a concern, and since it is hundreds of miles from the ocean there are probably no sharks, but it is filthy lake water, teeming with bacteria, and industrial contaminants so there is enough risk to keep a daredevil happy.

Step 2, add some intrigue. check.

It is the wilderness, so wildlife is present. Bears, wolves, wild boars, monstrous constricting snakes, huge venomous spiders, none of those are present here in the environs of our medium sized city in the midwest. But, mosquitoes are awful things, and there are going to be some of them. Bees are always a possibility, so it is best to lather yourself up with some reeking, repulsive goo that even insects can't stand. We have some.  There are skunks, raccoons, and non venomous but still sneaky, and startling snakes and plenty of spiders. No matter how harmless a snake is finding one blocking your path to the car is always a nasty surprise. It is best to have a backup route to the car. Fortunately, it is not far, and there are several routes from the shore to the car.

Step 3, find convenient escape route, and check supply of insect repellent, check.

No fishing trip is complete without a supply of snacks.  A sad fact that dawned on me during our first fishing trip, which was last weekend. We had no snacks. Oh, sure we packed in some water, and a few cans of Dr. Pepper*

Step 4. Make a list of all the important list of important stuff for fishing. check.

Fishing is easy if you have a plan, and stick to the steps.

By the way, check out the new logo, it has a spider, and a scared person running in terror, which kind of explains life. If you love it, you should tell +S. Bradley Stoner , he suggested using a spider.  If you are not so crazy about it, don't worry, there are more logos coming down the pipe, or sluice or whatever the appropriate symbol for creative process would be.

Oh, and here is a still from the new movie "Revenge of the Life Explained Jedis Strike Back."**  Coming to a theater near you soon. Unless you are one of them there art snob types, in which case it will be coming to theatre near you soon.

*This is not an endorsement, I am not a paid spokesperson (but I am for sale, if you are interested Dr. Pepper, do you mind if I just call you Doc?) it is just difficult to know whether to use "pop" or "soda." "Soft drinks" just doesn't carry enough weight for a such a masculine, primal thing as a fishing trip into the wild.

** Actually, this is a selfie made with the new "Star Wars" app, Available on the iTunes App Store, and Google Play.  I will have a full review if I ever take the time to do anything except take some goofy looking pictures.  Really, though, isn't that enough.

Independence Day, and Safety, for the Fish, Anyway.

Yesterday was the 4th of July, and we celebrated by having our internet access and cable television restored. We had been independent, on and off, (sometimes it would work, and sometimes it wouldn't) for the last week of both. It seems there is always advice on the wisdom of unplugging, and we have conducted an unintentional experiment.  It was not terrible, but it was not liberating either. In the interest of honesty it should be noted we still had iPhones and internet at work.  So it was not complete isolation.  But, it is up and running again, thank you gods of technology.

Also, we were independent of fish. Which is not unusual, we spend most of our life independent of fish. What made it spectacular is the fact that we bought fishing gear, and tackle, and fishing licences, and went in search of the wily, elusive beasts. But, they managed to outsmart us, and gave us the slip.

This comes as no surprise, of course, I used to fish all the time, and fish have outmaneuvered me at every turn. But, it is was about the chase, the sport, the game.  Fishing is something I do, catching fish is not.

But, my son talked me into fishing with him.  Friday we headed over to the outdoor sporting goods mega store.  Several dollars later we walked away with new rods, reels, lures, and hope (which does spring eternal, by the way).

On the way home we scouted a few good locations, tramping through a soggy forest in the rain. You need to sacrifice to achieve success. Since the internet was working, temporarily when we got home, and our state has an online option we got our fishing license emailed to us, and we were ready.

Saturday was bright, warm and perfect for fishing.  Off we went, after a while, no point in being a damned fool about it, anyway. Bottles of water, and cold Dr. Pepper, and the adventure was joined.

Fishing is not a particularly complicated activity, but, there is a technique involved, a technique we need to master. We tangled a lot of fishing line, and had to cut it off our reels. Here is a fishing tip, take a sharp knife and bandages.  It is probably a good idea to take some hand wipes and a few snacks, as well. There is a lot a fisherman has to remember.

So, we fished for several hours, and we carried all of our trash out, and disposed of it properly. We cut away line and we lost a lure, we walked away laughing. And that means it was worth every cent.

Here is a little warning to all of the fish in the area.  You can run and you can hide and you can swim right up to the bank and laugh in my face, but I am coming for you. Just kidding, your are safe. Snacks and soft drinks you might be in trouble.

Winter, a time for real men, and first aid.

Saying farewell to summer, and welcoming winter can be bittersweet, as you put away the shorts, sleeveless shirts and sandals and break out coats, boots, and sweaters, it is easy to remember the joys of summer.  Mowing, raking, baking in the inescapable,  unforgiving sun...  Well, that doesn't sound that good.  Reaching back a little further... ah yes, the joys of summer, the carefree days of sitting in the withering heat trying to catch a fish.

Fishing is a great past time, trying to outsmart an animal, crafty, and cunning, hiding in the depths, a ruthless carnivore, a relentless, tireless predator.  Armed with nothing but a $250.00 dollar rod and reel, several hundred dollars of assorted "tackle," a cooler full of beer, and a fifteen thousand dollar boat.  Morning turns to afternoon, and slides effortlessly into evening, as you match wits with a primitive creature.  Trolling, drifting, setting anchor, nothing works, all day, and not a nibble, enough blood loss to mosquitoes that you may need a transfusion, and a sunburn so bad it might require skin grafts, and not one nibble!  Stupid fish, anyway.  Things will go so much better when you have a new pickup to haul that boat to the lake, then you would be reeling them in.

But, winter is not the time for fishing, (well, ice fishing is popular in some places, but, since that doesn't support this post, so we are going to ignore it) winter is for hunters.  Ah, hunting, there is a past time that is older than humanity.  It is just you, and a five thousand dollar shotgun loaded with shells that cost more than the first several cars you owned, and the birds, facing off in a life and death struggle, may the most evolved species win.

After hours of tromping through wet undergrowth, in arctic conditions you still have not seen your first bird.  Sure, you have heard plenty, as they jump up right behind you, (you must have almost stepped on the stupid things) and fly quickly away, screaming in bird language, "hey, here I am, human, right behind you."  Oh, this is too much.

You are no longer even willing to eat the evil thing, you are convinced it is the same bird, following you throughout the day, jumping up, shouting bird obscenities at you, and flying away.  Enough is too much!  You just want to blow that bird into little pieces, pieces so small it would take a vacuum cleaner to pick the thing up off the ground.  You have a plan, and you are ready.

At the first sound of a bird taking flight, you spin violently around, looking wildly for the malevolent bird, and hit your friend, who is sending a text message, right in the face, with enough force to shatter his nose.  Blood flies everywhere, and he drops his phone in a muddy puddle at his feet.  To further complicate problems, the force of the collision, gun barrel against nose, causes you to pull the trigger, and in what has become typical of the day, the pellets blow out the windshield and puncture the radiator of your wife's car.  Dammit!!!  If only you had spent the extra $3.000 to buy the really good shotgun.

You head to the road, helping your friend, who is starting to look pretty pale, just in time to see the bird wink at you and run into the bushes at the bottom of the ditch.  

Fishing, Hunting, Trying to Get By.

In a recent article, (holy cow, they are getting smart) Scientific American reports that "non-bird reptiles," mainly crocodiles, and alligators use tools to capture birds.  Of course, they don't use those wild looking, net shooting guns, or tasers, (that would make for really big news) rather, they lay sticks across their nose, and when the bird (not-a-non bird reptile) swoops in to pick up the stick for construction of a nest, the crocodile has the bird for a little meal, and, one would assume, has a little chuckle at the bird's stupidity, and probably goes back to work on the petition to have the title changed to non-crocodile reptile, wondering the whole time why the bird gets all of the headlines.

You have to love the circle of life.

Of course, in fairness to birds, the article later explains how birds can use berries, and sometimes even bits of bread to catch fish, or dung to catch dung beetles, (again, casting doubt on the intelligence of birds), so this behavior is not new to (bird, and non-bird) reptiles.  And, don't forget the part about flying, many people still think that is a pretty neat trick.  Evolution has not completely ignored this class of animal.

Life Explained's Division of Scientific Research, Travel and Tourism, and Wildlife Resource Management wondered if there were any other surprising examples of the use of tools as a means to an end in nature.  What they found was surprising.

There were several cases, researched and documented, of men, camouflaging themselves in huge, expensive boats, and tossing shiny, pointy feather covered metal bits tied to a thin plastic rope in the water in an effort to catch fish.  Often, this requires coolers full of beer, and boxes full of exorbitantly priced gear, and gasoline, and cursing, and baking under an unforgiving sun wearing only swim trunks, and a middle aged belly. Sometimes whole weekends will be swallowed by the process.   There are rumors of a few lucky souls who have managed to get a fish into the boat, but there is no proof at this point.

Also, they found proof of men, dressing in forest patterns, covering their face with greasy paint and trompinfg off into snow covered woods, and hiding in little forts built along rivers, armed with huge, expensive weapons, trying desperately to shoot a bird to death.  They have devices to make noise that sound like birds, and they use this to draw them in, and then in a scene reminiscent of the St. Valentines Day Massacre they jump from their place of concealment and blast the livin' bejesus out of the birds.  Sometimes it works, but reports indicate that it is mostly futile.

As is plain to see, birds and fish are crafty, evasive animals, and capturing or killing one is an expensive, time consuming proposition.  How they get caught so often by dumb animals is beyond us.