DW on the Livermush player

Shout out and salute to the FCB!

The recent additions to the above player includes some Dale Watson, who is one of the favorites of one of my favorites, Creener, AKA: Fish Camp Barbie.

Carina's heart is bigger than the Star Ranch and it's getting pounded right now because her Mom is in the hospital, not doing well. Your kind thoughts and prayers for her, her Mom, and their family would be appreciated. I'll be squeezin' the phone tight...

What if everyone quit?

TEA PARTY FOR ONE (Pt. 2)

The few folks who were aware of my plans to thumb my nose on April 15 warned me that not filing would mean that I'd have no recourse later. But I don't care. No, that's not true...I do care about those things I've worked hard for, and don't want them confiscated (stolen). And I've never been to jail, but I don't think I'll enjoy it. And the ironic truth of the matter is that, had I submitted those filings, my wallet would definitely be fatter right now. I paid more tax last year, by far, than the net sum owed would be, given the "deductions" which I certainly could have taken.

I made 12 mortgage payments (did it myself, ha!), most of which were interest.

I had healthcare costs that I paid out of pocket; not piddly-ass shit, either.

I had business expenses that literally dwarf the amount of what would be my tax.

I had unrecovered losses due to scoundrels who couldn't find their checkbooks.

And I would have had an accountant paid to sort through it all.

But the point is, it doesn't matter. Let them keep that cash as my last investment in their grand scheme. Perhaps they can use it to offset their prosecutorial expenses!

I know you can't eat your principles, but I just couldn't go through another tax season gnashing my teeth over the whole process of laying bare my worth, and so many other facets of my existence, to that great self-perpetuating machine that does nothing if not abuse that worth. So, I refused to play their silly little reindeer games this year, as I'll also refuse from here on out.

The threat of voting those bozos out "next term" hasn't ever stopped them from taxing more and prying deeper in the past, has it? They make new laws for the sake of having new laws and refer to government handouts as "tax breaks." Not that I want to lead any big revolution, but what if everyone right now changed their filing status with their respective employers to accomodate the least amount of weekly govenment-enforced theft, and said to those vermin inhabiting the Capitols in Washington and Raleigh, "steal from me now, but do not expect my complicity next April..."?

The only certainty regarding taxation is that it requires your willing assent. I stopped giving it, and wonder out loud how effective it would be if everyone else did likewise.

I had a girlfriend a few years ago (only temporarily, thank God!) who possessed three young'uns and earned (as a hairstylist) less than 20 grand a year. Every year about this time, she made arrangements for her end-of-the-schoolyear, weeklong, beach vacation that she affords because of her...wait for it...I am not making this shit up...

INCOME TAX REFUND.

Not just rough-camping somewhere within a long walk of the beach, but a weeklong rental...HOUSE...on...the...beach. Again, with clarity: ON the beach.

This is the equation, folks. You will be paying for her beach vacation next year, because you will pay and she will collect the refund. [For the full effect, re-read the previous sentence and when you get to the italicized word, think of Jerry Seinfeld saying his neighbor Neuman's name sneeringly: "NEUMANNNNN".]

If I was getting assaulted and didn't kick up much fuss, my assailers might get the idea that I didn't mind it so much. I mean, getting taxed is one thing, but being forced to endure a rectal probe every April 15th to prove you were taxed appropriately seems a bit excessive. Why not just quit?

Leading with my chin

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Singin' Cowboys & Bird-dogs

I'm so looking forward to going on the 2-day camping ride this weekend with the horsemen's association, that last night I dreamed that Lyle Lovette showed up just so he could sing Ricky Nelson's part:

I would have that song be the official anthem for the horsemen's association, if'n it was up to me.

On an unrelated note, I lamented a couple months ago, round about the end of quail season, over the dearth of birds in these parts. Maggie and I hunted and hunted some more, but no points. Yesterday, on the way to the mailbox, in the spot pictured below, we bumped up five (5, dammit!) woodcock right there. They had apparently gorged themselves on earthworms levitated by the recent rains, and could hardly fly. Two of them kept circling back, and I let Maggie work the area for scent, until I got worried that maybe there were chicks afoot. I never found any, but there was lots of sign.

I took the camera on the walk to the mailbox today, and was sure they'd be gone. I was right, but they had apparently roosted there again last night, leaving enough scent to entice this hard point you see. While photographing the point, I could hear Bobwhites calling from three different directions. As Kurt Vonnegut would say, if he knew anything about bird-hunting, "...so it goes."

For Easter: Liberty!

Kate, my friend from Blatherings Blog, posted this the other day. I figure it makes an excellent Easter gift. From her, to me, to you. Patrick Henry's entire "Give me liberty, or give me death" speech.

Happy Easter, y'all!

BLACKFIVE Productions

I love these guys.







BLACKFIVE, y'all.

Welcome home: Bangor, ME

Aye Chihuahua, over at Flopping Aces, said yesterday that, "it'll be the best two minutes you spend on the internet." I concur.


The Way We Get By - Trailer from The Way We Get By on Vimeo.

I piss & moan a lot, but I truly enjoy every opportunity to report on, and link to, good stuff and good people.

"Forty-Nine and a hamma meat"

I had the "Y'oughtta luv" link box up to give folks a taste of what I was listening to, with links to artists' websites. Then, lately, I started playing around with an audio player, and arranging it into the blog. I didn't like the thought of hammering visitors with big cow-punk (on one hand though, that does have it's benefits, occasionally) with the player crankin' automatically and buried at the bottom (where you the visitor can't execute control easily). So, here's something different. Play it if you like, ignore it if you don't. As always, feedback is most welcome.

There won't be any Bruce Springboard, or Chixie Dicks, or Steve Earle. I challenge you to find any duds here. Be advised, though, there may be the occasional NSFW (re: Rebel Son's "1,2,3").

Rock on, dudes.

And don't forget: LAST WEEK TO VOTE FOR KEN!

'Allo, beastie...

Those of you who were still concerned over our global image, can rest assured! Flopping Aces reports that Exurban League has obtained an advance copy of the Great Community Organizer's upcoming speech regarding the recent piracy. This is just a taste. Make sure you go enjoy the whole thing.

The past eight years have shown a failure to appreciate the historic role of these noble seafarers. Instead of celebrating their entreprenuerial spirit and seeking to partner with them to meet common challenges, there have been times where America has shown arrogance and been dismissive, even derisive.

Some of us wonder if our current Overseas Contingency Operation would even be needed had the last administration not been so quick to label Pirates as “thieves,” “terrorists” and worse. Such swashbucklaphobia can lead to tragic results, as we have seen this week.

If you'd have drank their kool-aid, you'd have shut up by now

Andrew Klavan discusses fairness. If you're on the right, watch it. If you're in the middle, or especially if you profess to be in the middle, watch it twice. If you're on the left, well...if you're on the left, it's unlikely you'd come around here, but if you are, then I say speak up. It's an opportunity for you to say something besides "Shut up." Double-dog dare you.



Thanks go to PJTV.

These chains I can no longer abide

I'm fixin' to do something which will most likely have very negative repercussions. By willfully posting this video, I'm admitting that I can't say I wasn't warned.







Henry David Thoreau went to jail for his civil disobediance. I know Thoreau isn't likely to be the kind of company that I should expect to find there, but I'll do my best to make friends and/or dispatch potential enemies.

Here's the alternative that I can support.

Cavuto vs. One Communist

I like the content I get from FOX, but sometimes not so much the "Anchorpersons." I believe they all mean well, but it hurts my ears when it gets to the point of two or more people yelling at each other. Here's what I'd like to see: Some liberal/appeaser/apologist/socialist/American self-loather comes on Hannity, and instead of arguing, this person is hooked up to some voltage wherein every time Sean asks a question that produces an answer somewhat less than candidly genuine or that guest (let's say maybe "thuffering thuccatath" Barney) interrupts or goes off-topic, a producer throws a switch long enough to re-focus that guest's attention.

A patriotic American could only hope.

In the meantime, though, I'll say my favorite has got to be Cavuto.

When someone proposes to give government the control over how much money anyone can make, the next thing for them to do is control how much money everyone can make. This guy is a US Congressman, who has crafted a bill to give the Treasury Dept. the authority to dictate the worth of employees in a company. There's only one word for this program.

Communism.

And just in case you didn't get the memo: Communism is bad.

BRHA Hibriten Mnt. trail ride

These are pix from the weekend horse-riding adventures. This first one is yesterday's "warm-up" ride at Tuff-Enuff Rodeo. The happy couple are neighbor-friends Ted & Wendy, who just celebrated their 16th wedding anniversary. Congrats, you two! The rest of the pix are today's big ride to the top of Hibriten Mountain.

It looks like a lot of like minded folks that had been stuck inside a lot lately, had focussed on getting out this weekend, and what a great day for it. I heard it said there were 88 riders.

The last photo is of the support structure for the Christmas Star, which is visible when lit from the far mountains of the previous picture. If I can get out that way next week, perhaps I can get a shot of the illuminated Easter Cross, for perspective from the far ground. The ramp is for the hang-gliders.

In honor of National Cleavage Day

My dear friend, Creener aka The Fish Camp Barbie, sent me a care package through the US mail which arrived yesterday. She says that her fool-proof method for making new friends is to show her titties, and that I can do this myself, now. Happy Cleavage Day everyone!

Actually, I did not know that it was National Cleavage Day until reading Jenny's report. So, this goes out to Jenny. If my company survives this economic death-spiral (and it ain't looking good), I will hire Jenny and she can come work in my office showing as much cleavage as she damn well pleases. And she can send text messages to her current (then will be former) employer saying, "Nanny nanny poo poo...."

Cheers to Creener, Jenny, and cleavage!

Hillbilly Tarheel Linkage

Quickly, and to the point: I am pleased to announce the latest addition to my blogroll. Lemuel is just up the road in Asheville. Today, you can go visit his blog, Hillbilly White Trash, and watch a very brief video: Mr. Jefferson. When you have done that, you will want to come back here and thank me for having the good common sense to show him the appropriate link-love.

I, myself, am reading through some of his previous posts and finding lots of evidence of a kindred spirit.

Vittles, y'all!

I wanted to send some home-cooking to my displaced North Carolina brethren and sisteren in the Great Northwest. To Colonel Tomato Stake Thompson and Blathering Kate, and any others who might need some good eats.

Livermush sammiches and pan-seared tater-tots, yum! I made enough for company, so come hungry. Wish you were here.

Correction/update: That's a livermush, egg, and cheese sammich slathered with Duke's mayonaisse and gently fired up with garlic Texas Pete...Popeye's spinach for this blogger.

Reliable Sources

First things I read this morning were the sports sections of the Charlotte Obscurer and Raleigh News & Obfuscator, two McClatchy (sp?) papers. McClatchy is also the publisher of a book that seems to actually celebrate Barack Obama, and professed their collective support of that candidate during the campaign. That support strikes me as a conflict of interest, because the printed word carries the implication as being from those who know to inform those who do not. And if you the reader are going there to glean anything more than the sports scores and voting results for the All-American team, you are likely to be victimized by systemic misleading rhetoric disguised as information.

This post was going to be a mild cry of disgust at the fact that anyone not named Tyler Hansbrough could be considered Player of the Year. Truly, fans of Oklahoma, Arizona State, Davidson, UConn, Notre Dame, Kentucky, Marquette, Louisville, Kansas, Florida State, and Duke, all having a player who received at least one number-one vote, would gladly swap their best player for Hansbrough. Anyone who says different is smoking crack. Don't give me that, "he has the athletic game suited to the pros" nonsense about Griffen, because it ain't the NBA he's playing in. I'd concede that he (Griffen) will certainly be a better pro, because the NBA game is exactly what that guy exhibited most of on Sunday: not doing much for great stretches of gametime until an opportunity presents itself to do something spectacular. He obviously wasn't very well conditioned to maintain any sustained excellence. Did everyone else see him gasping for air in the first half, and refusing to run back downcourt to play defense with his teammates? Must be the comparative League of Weaklings that is the Big 12. That smack doesn't go to the KU fans...just those pansies from Greater Mexico. Ooo, that reminds me of an old joke...paraphrasing... Know why Oklahoma doesn't have a basketball program? Answer: Because then, Texas would want one too.

But like I said, that was what this post was going to be about, but it ain't...College basketball is a fun diversion from everyday struggles but there are things infinitely more important.

In spite of the sliminess I got from doing the McClatchy thing, I still held out hope that better and brighter subjects might land on my reading plate this morning. And, clicking on the BlackFive link served up two such morsels to rescue my disposition for this day.

If you haven't stored the sites from my blogroll in your IE favorites files, the obvious question is, "Why the monkey-spank not?"

Seriously, before you read anything else, you'll be better off checking for updated content from any/all of these: Blatherings, No Feet, The Sister, BlackFive, Flopping Aces, the JLF, and the Wild West (in no particular order) and even to include Pam at Atlas and Ace of Spades. These folks can be counted on to dish out the straight poop regularly. And, like I said, MacQ and Uncle Jimbo (who I've quoted here before) fed us some gems today. Those authors, respectively, gave us the story of welcoming home the remains of a US Paratrooper who gave the ultimate sacrifice, Cpl. Jonathan Ayers, and a politically unifying community you should at least be aware of, if not heartily subscribe to, Simon Jester. Regarding Cpl. Ayers, his hometown, and his comrades:

Probably the most gratifying moment for me, besides the award, took place as everyone was leaving. The family had been escorted off the stage, and other members of the family in the audience were allowed to leave before anyone else left. Then Cpl Ayer's platoon mates stood and began to file out from the front of the auditorium. The entire crowd, unbidden, stood and gave them a standing ovation as they left, many patting them on the back and shoulders as they passed by. I saw a few glistening eyes in both the crowd and among the platoon members.

And regarding Uncle Jimbo's I am Simon Jester:

We are not Far-Right or Far-Left. We are the seventy percent in the middle.
We are not Capital “L” libertarians, although we do have sympathies with their platform.

We are neither bitter clingers nor conspiracy nuts.

What we are is a group of folks that think we see liberty and freedom eroding in our beloved United States. We see the policies and agendas of the hirelings in Washington D.C. heading toward an abbreviation if not outright abrogation of the Bill of Rights.

Since each post is not an independent link, you'll have to scroll down to each article. Small effort considering the reward. Go there, now. Feel better about yourself and your world. And consider it good advice to rid your life of mind-numbing things like Oprah Winfrey, MSNBC, and McClatchy "newspapers".

I can't get the phrase, "Zombie kittehs vote for Ken" outta my head

We at the staff of the Livermush blog shall not revel in the Blue Devils' loss last night. That team and their fans should be proud of a successful season. I don't want to dogpile on them, because I've always felt that bad form might usher in bad luck. It's already got to be the worst harbinger in sports history that the monumentally inept and despicable Obomination is publicly rooting for my guys. Combine that with Sports Illustrated putting Ty Lawson on their cover (universally known for being bad luck) and my fellow Carolina fans better be finding some Buddha bellies to rub.

If the bad-luck factor isn't enough, consider the fact that Gonzaga, Carolina's opponent tonight, runs the Flex offense. Care to guess which other Tar Heels' foes this season ran the Flex?

Maryland & Boston College.

Care to guess what program is the model for the Flex? Gonzaga.

They know the Flex offense so well, one of their assistant coaches has written a book about it.

I hope that all the UNC players, coaches, and staff have had an opportunity to expectorate in the Mighty Mississippi by now.

On a slightly different note, the picture above is of all the folks I recruited to go vote for Ken, who is a Duke fan. But, Carolina fans are fans of Ken because he kicks the bad guys' ass. So, go vote for Ken, else I'll come kick your ass.

Photo credit goes to the FCB, who aside from being a better photographer than I, is also a brilliantly gracious host...the gold standard in that department.

Recapping...find something lucky for the 'Heels, vote for Ken, kisses to the FCB...

Go Tar Heels!

A comedy of minor tragedies

Remember in the Coen brothers' mob drama, Miller's Crossing, when bad guy Gianni Kaspari whacks one of the other bad guys Eddie (The) Dane over the head with the fireplace ash-shovel, as The Dane is strangling good guy Tom Regan? And the oaf known as "Drop" starts hollering, "Aaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhh..."?

No?

Well, go watch that film and when you hear Drop hollering, you'll have a sense of what has kept me away from updating this thing.

I should have been able to punch out a happy report (on Sunday) of all the pleasantries from the road trip of the day previous. That trip, coupled with the suffocating sense of dread over our country's future, has had me near catatonic except for the occasional Drop Johnson impersonation.

The genesis of the entire plan was the scheduled Tea Party at the Capitol in Raleigh. Then, because of its proximity and recent fame, I decided to have lunch, beforehand, at the Roast Grill. The plan was to park there, eat Greek hot dogs, walk to Capitol and observe Tea Party.

Also during the planning, I learned about a "Big Rock Show" at the Carolina Theatre, and a UNC vs. Duke baseball game. Okay, I thought, it could all mesh together seemlessly.

The obvious (read "obvious" to anyone who's ever heard of Murphy's Law) flipside to that meshing together business, is that if one domino in the chain got twisted, absolutely none of it could "mesh". I believe it was more than just that one domino askew, because it seems now that forces were acting in concert to prevent the Big Plan from coming off.

I made sure to set the DVR to capture the Carolina vs. LSU game, and got started out perhaps 15minutes later than intended. The 2.5hr drive to Raleigh was more encumbered than expected, and we (I picked up the FCB at her house, and made sure that she also DVR'd UNC's bball game) arrived at The Roast Grill 30 minutes later than planned.

There was a video crew on the scene from the Travel Channel, filming interviews with patrons as a follow-up to the recent Man v Food episode, and its being there drew a crowd, which meant the actual dog dining took way too long. The dogs were pretty good. You can get them "burnt to a crisp" which is the only way to cook 'em at my house, and you can have a freshly squeezed Budweiser with them (which I did). You can't, however, carry your Bud outside "to-go"-like. Plus, there's no real parking at the Roast and I was parked in a tow-away (even on Saturday) lot. The chili wasn't thick enough for my tastes...

The day's schedule should have gone about thusly:

• 11.30- roast grill


• 12noon- tea party


• 1.30p- leave for baseball game at UNC


• 2-5p- UNC whips Dook


• 5.45-7.59p- UNC basketball, NCAA tourney


• 8-10p- Arrogance reunion show


• 11 until- maybe watch DVR'd replay and hang with party aminals

Since there wasn't adequate parking at the Roast, we left looking for something closer to the Capitol...only to learn...this is classic...the St. Patrick's Day parade, rescheduled due to bad weather from the weekend prior, had gummed up all the roads around and to the Capitol. We had just come from the place closest to the Tea Party, and already behind schedule, and with the daunting prospect of finding a parking spot (and some subliminal stick-in-the-mudness from the FCB), I abandoned the Tea Party, which was the whole original purpose for the trip, to get back on schedule by heading on to Chapel Hill. It was almost 1PM then, facing approximately 30 minutes to campus via I-40.

Get back on schedule? Au contraire, mon frere...

Something on the interstate had westbound traffic...not just slowed, but...stopped. Hey, no problem. I went baja to catch an almost-missed exit ramp and directed FCB to punch up some detour request from her TomTom, which she had luckily (yeah, right) brung along. I wasn't a fan of TomTom, or any GPS navigator, but here was the perfect opportunity for one to prove its worth. Let's just say, since TomTom helped get us to the stadium in 1.5 hours (instead of 0.5 hours), I'm even less of a fan now. When we got to our seats, it was the bottom of the 2nd, and the Diamond 'Heels were down 3-zip. If we'd have gotten there in a timely manner, I'm convinced I could have willed away at least one of those Dookie runs. That sounds unpleasant, doesn't it? "Dookie runs"...heh...

The Tar Heels made a valiant comeback, but 4 errors (bad luck all around that day) were insurmountable.

At least we'd get back to Durham, and the FCB's house in time for the basketball game, right?

Nay, Loki...

We (meaning not me) decided to that it'd be best to meet Debra DeMilo (she of the Fabulous Knobs fame, who would turn out later to be the highlight of the evening's big rock show) at a burrito joint. Since I knew we were DVR'ing the game and I could watch it later, I didn't kick up too much fuss. I don't remember the name of the joint, but their burritos were damn good. I knew FCB had promised Debra that she could change and prep for the show at her house, and I had no idea at this point that FCB's spare bedroom was really going to later be commandeered by the visiting Big Rock Star (effectively kicking me to the sofa), I was giving the whole equation the big 'W' for wut-evah...

Coming out of the burrito joint, I quickly got Woody Durham dialed in on the Frequency Modulated station, and we headed back to FCB's. It sounded like a royal dog-fight of a game. On arriving, she punched up the game on tv. During breaks in the action, I changed my puddled-up undershirt, and noticed how Big Rock Chick's travel and stage items didn't look especially temporary in the spare bedroom. No biggie...just my imagination...

Back I went to the remainder of the game. And what a game! I would later read Adam Lucas' account that both teams played their best game, that the point-swings were more a case of great things accomplished than due to errors on the part of one team or the other. The 'Heels had lost, I think, a nine point lead and trailed by one, and the announcement was made that we needed to go to the venue. At 7:25.

What?!

Since when do I find myself in the presence of, not one but two, females one of which is a Big Rock Star, intent on arriving...wait for it...

Ahead of schedule...?

I had already volunteered to drive, partly because I hate being left to the coming-and-going whims of others, but also to maybe have some influence on the overall itinerary. Again: yeah, right. We loaded up, and I got them to the Theatre (it was 3 minutes away), and I listened to Woody and Eric call the end of the game whilst the girls went on to their Big Rock pre-schmooze. Whew! that game was too close for too long.

I knew this was going to be a saga, but there's no getting around it. Instead of integrating the photos, as planned, I'll probably bump them to a second post.

Back to the show...Arrogance was a late-70's-early-80's NC band that most have credited with the North Carolina "Combo-Land" sound, which spawned later, more-successful, acts like REM. The adjective that kept pounding away in my head was: "anthemic" And, I'm pretty sure I had long since had enough of "anthemic" with REM's first album. At least it was a sit-down show, and folks managed to hold back on standing up to show their "homage" until about the next-to-last song. Thanks, old hippies...I mean it.

On the other hand, Debra kicked their asses. She purely tore up Chuck Berry's Little Queenie & The Stones' Honky Tonk Women. The FCB confirmed sometime during the festivities that I had, indeed, inherited the couch for the night...but no biggie.

By 10PM, I was ready to vamanoosepordelacasa for PBRs and 'Heels, but apparently there were interviews and more schmoozing to be done, so I waited in my truck for another hour and a half.

Patiently.

Finally, getting back to Club-FCB, I was allowed to get into the DVR'd game, and I planned to see the whole thing. But that plan lasted through about halftime, and was pulled in favor of...get this...wait for it...

Jessco White, The Dancin' Outlaw.

In-bred, multiple-personality disorder West Virginians tap-dancing and saying things like, "Woman, I'll cut yer thoat with this here butcher knife if you don't stop serving me those sloppy-slimy runny eggs."

After that was done, at 2AM, I decided to let the current take me and resigned to accept the fruitlessness of the day, embrace a few hours of slumber, then wake up, dash home, feed dog, and relax to my DVR'd game.

The ride home was uneventful, and I even decided to catch Adam Lucas' essay on the game over at tarheelblue.com before watching it at leisure. I enjoy doing that when I've got a delayed version to watch; he always has fantastic perspective and insight from courtside and knowing the immediate background on the players and coaches. Needless to say, after reading his account, I was primed for watching the game...finally...Except...

Somehow the recording did not record. No matter where in the library of recorded shows I looked, it wasn't there. My comedy of errors that started with me putting myself behind schedule for the entire day, by making sure to set that confounded DVR, had come full-circle. Call it a technical glitch or operator error, no matter. It all equals the same thing.

So you can sit back and laugh it off, or you can join me in doing like Drop Johnson,

"AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHH..."

From the Foto Files of the FlyFishing Funicator

I was very much disappointed that I didn't get to post pictures of quail, and grouse, and woodcock from this winter. Maggie and I got into the woods and/or fields 9 times this past year (hear Mr. Rooney saying, "Nine times, Missizz Beuhler...") and nary a bird shot. Not even one shot at.

So, I was starting to get the impression that God had decided to render null and void my dominion over the beasts of the earth.


So, it is with great pleasure (and a considerable measure of relief) that I present the first trout of '09.


The recent raininess had swollen this Delayed Harvest creek, so wading was tee-yoo-uff. The water wasn't muddy, as you can see in the background above, but "roiling" was the most common adjective of the day.


Picture #2 is a shot of an area that is usually manageable at about thigh depth, but this day was over belt-level. Water temps were in the 40s, air temps in the 50s to low 60s later, and since I only ever wade in canvas felt-soled hiking boots and old jeans, I could only stand it in the water for about an hour at a time before having to walk for 20-30 minutes to thaw out.It was extra nice to get on the water before the heavy pressure hits; the bait-fishing Flintstones will clean it out very soon. I ran into a retired superior court judge on the creek (as he was taking a lunch break and I was relocating the truck upstream and thawing). He named some folks who I know that he had worked with, and said that he had fished this same crick last week and caught over 30, with a couple in the 24"-plus class.

The weatherman missed it with his "2-3 mph winds becoming calm..." because it got to about 12-15mph after noon, which of course made bracing the stream (and especially casting) that much tougher, but I ain't complainin'...