I’m human; I’ve made mistakes all through my life. I won’t catalog them here as I’d rather not lay out a litany of real and/or imagined turning points and then justify my decision or blame someone else for it.
Unless you know more about me than I do that would likely be of no interest to anyone but someone with a more twisted mind than mine. I’m not going to recite or relate mistakes involving anyone but me.
There are stupid things we all do that we wish we hadn’t.
Never drink beer from paper Dixie cups, the bathroom dispenser size.
I learned this when I worked in a state park campground one summer and met two guys traveling through on motorcycles. They had to camp near my cabin because the campground was noise restricted after dark. They bought a pony keg one night, invited me to join them and we played guitar and drank beer for hours. When I staggered off to bed, I placed my work boots neatly by my bed. I laid down, the earth moved, and my boots were no longer empty. I had to haul garbage and clean restrooms the next morning. Couldn’t complain to the park ranger about not feeling well, I was underage and alcohol consumption was forbidden to underage employees. Nearly everyone has an alcohol initiation. This was mine but I should have paid closer attention.
Never drink beer with brandy chasers.
I learned this about two months after the Dixie cup lesson. It was quite the party. By the time I had fully learned the lesson, there was a line waiting to find a sink, a toilet, or a bath tub in which to vomit. I wound up outside, instead, becoming overly familiar with an oak tree. I spent the shank of the night with a trash can by the bed. I’ve never made that mistake again
Never stand forward of the firing line without ear protection.
I’ve discussed that event and what effect it has had on my life. Since I wasn’t paying close enough attention to one careless person, I’m at fault. Unfortunately, no amount of caution can undo that mistake. I’m very careful around firearms now. This lesson also applies to lawn mowers, string trimmers, chain saws and overly loud music. I avoid bars with live bands as most of them are horribly over amplified as well as poorly mixed. That results in an environment in which conversation is impossible and hearing damage likely. This injunction also includes restaurants with televisions tuned to sports channels. If I can’t hear my companions without them shouting, I have no need to remain there and don’t.
Never trust that a weighted buck tail streamer will safely and gently release when caught against a rock. Those of you familiar to fly fishing will recognize the danger described by a tightly arced fly rod and a rapidly vibrating line running 30 feet downstream. So do me, now. But in my early days with long rods and flies I didn’t realize that#12, lead-wrapped buck tail streamer might come off the rock before the 6X leader, in defiance of physics and engineering, broke. So the leader held, the fly came up off the bottom like a bullet, and proceeded directly toward my left eye. Only a quick, involuntary ducking motion put the brim of my hat in place to deflect the fly. It hit my head and put me on the ground, seeing stars. I still have the fly.
This fly is tied on a #2/0 hook, much bigger than the #12 used above. It also is tied with two sets of 5/32 oz dumbbell eyes for added weight.
Other comparisons are noted below.
The red streamer is on your right, another fly of similar weight tied on a #2 hook using 5/32 oz lead dumbbell eyes on the left. In the middle, a #2.0 hooks and 5/32 oz lead dumbbell eyes.
While fishing the Skyway Flats at the mouth of Tampa Bay one Sunday morning with several friends, I managed to snag this same fly on a rock with about 60 feet of line out. It was rather breezy; whitecaps were breaking in the channel, just a bit closer to the bridge. There were a few rain squalls in the distance that might blow this way and force us from the water, and I did not want to have to bend on a new leader or fly if I could avoid it... I moved about 20 feet toward shore and slowly applied tension to the line. The roc arced, the line began oscillating, the wind rose a bit, and the leader must have been ready to break. But it didn’t. The fly came up off the bottom like a rocket leaving the gantry on the other coast
. A .22 bullet has a standard weight of 2.5 grams. A 5.56 mm bullet, used in the Army’s M-4 carbine or the older M-16 has a mass of 4.01 grams.
This fly has two lead dumbbells weighing a total of 8.86 grams. It has a stainless steel hook, some saltwater soaked feathers, and some synthetic fiber coated with multiple layers of phosphorescent head cement. This is a serious projectile, heavier than the standard bullet our troops use in Afghanistan. It’s headed for me with a very sharp point just ready to do to me what I hoped, 30 seconds ago, to do to a fish. Suddenly this fly, not that well-tied, but serviceable, changed from an object of useful nature to an object a with malevolent nature. All that mass, all that velocity, aided by the still gathering wind, is flying directly at me. 60 feet is not that much distance. I don’t have time to recall physics formulae such as: force = mass x acceleration (f = M xA) –thus (A = F/M) - “How fast is this going to be traveling when it hits me?”
Or momentum = mass x velocity (P = M x V”) “How much damage is this going to do to me?”
Indeed, all physics knowledge once learned and spit back for exams fled on the stiffening wind.
“Ain't no time to hate,
barely time to wait
Wo-oah, what I want to know,
where does the time go?” Wisdom from the Grateful Dead.
And I ducked and covered as we once did in school. Or I would have but for being knee deep in Tampa Bay.
Too late! The fly hit me on the right shoulder as I spun left. It drove me to my knees. It took two or three minutes to climb back up. Not sure if I was going to be able to cast any more flies that day, I began reeling in the line before it could become too tangled by the waves. I stood there a few more minutes, let the pain ease, and decided to try casting to a fish I could see about 40 feet to my front. I managed the cast; the fish took the fly, and promptly broke the leader. I never saw the fish or fly again.
But this is a lesson that seems not to take. Whenever I hang a fly up, the first response is to pull back on the rod, which only drives the hook deeper into whatever it is attracted to. Then I think about damaging my rod and pull the line in a straight vector as I should. The leader breaks and I bend on more leader and another fly. So I know that somewhere out there on the bank of some creek or river there is another fly just lurking, waiting for me to repeat a mistake I seem unable to avoid.
We didn’t fish much longer that day. The rain moved in, one of our group was so far from shore that he developed hypothermia while wading back in. We packed up, bundled him into a car and drove him to the rest area for several cups of coffee. That made me review my field medicine knowledge and recall that one need not be at high latitude or elevation to be at risk of hypothermia. When I got home I ordered the Gore-Tex wading jacket that none of us were carrying in our gear that February morning in Florida. I’ve made sure to have it with me since that day. One lesson relearned.
That was also the last fishing trip for a friend who was with us that day. I’m glad we all took the time to take him out before he died of colon cancer. That’s a lesson I won’t forget either.
We called a chimney sweep company (The Hot Spot from Greeneville TN) this morning to clean the chimney and check the wood stove. They told us it would be at least two weeks wait. We didn’t count on instant response. About 1630 the company called to ask if we would let them do the job this evening. They just left. The stove is safe for another year, the chimney not at risk of fire. Comforting to know this far from the nearest hydrant with a volunteer FD only. Now I’ve got to lie in wood for the winter. Our third year here is winding down rapidly.
If someone offers me beer with a brandy chaser in celebration, I’ll turn it down.
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