ness

Johnson rose and strode to the front of the room with a non-filtered cigarette in one hand and a tumbler of Cutty in the other. He reached up for a string and dramatically pulled down a map of Africa, nearly losing his balance in the process. He looked intently at each of us in succession, then back to the map. Seeing it was not the map he intended, he let out a string of profanities that was heard throughout the restaurant. Senator Byrd rushed to help, repeatedly pulling strings until he found the map of Dallas. Clearly marked in red was a route heading north, with a sharp left turn to the southwest. Just beyond the bend, a red x was drawn through the route line. A shriek filled the room and all heads turned towards the sound. Behind the curtain was a struggle then a loud grunt. A man staggered out, doubled over in pain, followed by my beautiful, but hysterical, Danielle. I headed toward her, but Gehrke and Orvis blocked my way. I jumped up, and grabbed the chandelier. Pushing off the table with my feet, I swung backward then forward extending my feet in front of me. It must have been a pretty good shot, because all the men fell to the ground in a heap, unconscious. Danielle headed toward me, arms outstretched, but a sudden jerk of her head revealed her hair had been grabbed from behind. As I moved toward her, a hand was clapped over her mouth and a gun was put to her temple. As the man began to peer out from behind her head the first thing to come out of the shadows was a long, sloping nose. Crap -- doorbell.

C'mon man, this is serious.

Sorry -- I had a visitor. I had been in deep cover for months, attempting to infiltrate a radical and secretive group known as the Reorganized Provisional John Birch Society. I had earned their trust through a series of carefully staged events (which I still cannot discuss) and was to meet them in New Orleans to assist them with the finalization of their plans -- plans I had successfully convinced them I knew, even though I did not. I gave a pass to the goon at the door and entered the small back room at Brennan's. The smell of chicory and sardou filled the air. I had learned early in my training to ooze confidence and command a room as means to disarm suspecting enemies. I knew anything less with these men would insure my death, and those of many other patriots. I casually scanned the room and nodded, but inside my mind raced. A lesser man would have gasped at this sight, but not I: Lyndon Johnson, Robert Byrd D-WV, SantoTrafficante (LCN), Fidel Castro, William Westmoreland, Pete Lavigne (CEO of General Dynamics), Howard Hughes, George Gehrke (of Gink fame), and Chip Orvis V (great great grandson of Charles). In other words, some of the most powerful men on the planet and/or in fly-fishing retail. Gotta hop -- more to come.

The Cold War was reaching a crescendo that spring as I careened toward graduation from medical school. My specialty in psychotropic medicine put me in high demand, and soon I was on my way to Washington. In those days, the training was much more demanding than it is now, both physically and emotionally. When it was over I was immediately whisked into a shadowy world where no one could be trusted, the scar on my left cheek the only reminder of who I was and where I'd been. My new wife was an heir to the DuPont fortune, a former Miss Delaware and a Boston Patriots cheerleader. We were deeply in love. Between my assignments, we would vacation at our summer cottage in Newport and dream of the day when I could leave that life to fully devote myself to our philanthropic endeavors, restoration of our historic home and, most importantly, to her. Sadly, it was not to be. Four shots from a Mannlicher-Carcano changed that forever. Sorry -- can't finish this right now. I'll try and pick it up later.

Nobody else had a voice like that. RIP George

It is a great story -- but seeing in the NY Times, grip-and-grins all over the net with 20+ pound fish, the tribe charging admission, dudes on ladders. I dunno -- kinda takes some of the shine of it for me. I'd rather hit a trib than stand on a ladder.

Yeah -- neat to see those native cutts brought back. I hadn't heard the story of the Pilot Peak strain. Getting a 100% DNA match is pretty remarkable. Neat addition to the story Al too. Anyway to show us your painting? I wonder if Tomelleri has done one...

Yeah -- we got a freeze last night, but it's sposta warm back up.

I've heard that recommended before, quill. Gotta check that out too.

Didn't find many, but made the most of what I had. Morels on homemade ciabatta (toasted) with asparagus from the garden. Nothing else but butter, salt and pepper.

Congrats Phil. I think they missed a whole bunch in the article, but heck, you take what you get. How many grandbabies is that now?

Thanks, Al. That's my kinda stuff. They're all rated highly on Amazon.

I've had food like that before

Hmmm. That sounds like something I'd like. Gonna put that on the Amazon wish list.

All this speculation assumes there was a logical reason for building this death trap...

The guy slicing the dead, dry eels and hanging them nails to cure was sure appetizing.

I know the feeling, mic. Worked my raised beds over a couple weeks back, but I have fully recovered. It's not nearly as bad as when I was tilling soil though -- that sucked. Not too much hard work left to do -- that I'm gonna do. Gotta get some mulch delivered and I'll pay for them to put it down. Peas, carrots, radishes, lettuce, beets, onions, spinach and chard are all in the ground. The maters, peppers, herbs, and a few others are in a cold frame for now. Sposta be a wet week and fairly cool so I'll probably hold off a while longer.

That was a pretty good performance by the author. The vegan guy was out to pick a fight. The dinner invitation was a nice touch.

Well, if it was easy it wouldn't be near as much fun when you catch one, right? If you feel pretty confident you were not spooking them too much with your approach, think about a couple other variables. Anywhere there's a rock, tree or bend in the stream is a likely spot. They all scour out a little deeper water and offer more protection. They also concentrate flows and the food floating by. Seams where fast and slow water are adjacent to each other are good too. Along the edge of a rock, below a plunge in the slower-current "V", to the sides of a plunge in the eddies, along the foam line at the start of a run. Hit all those places. In such skinny water, your mistakes are magnified. In a bathtub-sized pool, if you slap a fly on the surface, lay down a big coil of tippet, plop a fly in with a split shot and indicator, stick a fly in a tree and shake the branch overhead, whatever, you will make those fish quit or leave. And if they dart out of there, they're gonna spook their buddies too. I believe presentation trumps fly selection most of the time. And, that's really the hardest part to learn in fly fishing. You've surely read about drag-free drifts, etc. Laying a dry fly on the surface and having it float along in the conflicting currents without creating a wake is a bit of an art. Having a nymph bump along at the right speed below the surface, where you can't see it and the current is probably different than at the surface, is an art too. Anyhoo -- keep at it.

I'd do what you did. He was obviously clueless and I doubt you could have cured him.

Sweet. Sposta get a little rain this week and warm temperatures. I'm ready!

I'm not impressed. Their incomes should have been on the chopping block to begin with, along with everything else. And that's all I've got to say about that.

At least it wasn't our all-knowing government behind it. If the new names really do make it to the shelves, I suppose I'll relearn things.

French press is my fav. Waiting for our crummy grinder to break b4 I get a goodun. Gotta check that one out

Yeah--but how this one went off the rails isn't a real mystery though