Ain't that Quaint, or Isn't That Quisn't?

As I sit in my office, my back turned to Clingmans Dome, I think "ain't that quaint." We seem to be in a standoff, my mountains and me, and that probably won't change for a while. It's a classic love story. That which offers intrigue and desire can be the same object that seems too big to conquer, no matter how well you think you know it.

While the Ohio plated convoy passes through, I sit in resentment. These folks see only what is passable by minivan, never knowing the ethereal beauty possessed in even the shortest walk or breathed in during briefest of engine stops. In short, I'm part of the select few that realize what lies beneath my girl's gorgeous exterior surpasses even the hardiest mountain mans idea of grandeur. It's a seasonal love affair, and I hate it. No, that's not right. Actually I need it.

So, if you're with my girl this week, don't get too attached. She always comes home to me, she just likes to have fun.

And if you commune, be sure to commune in the high country. Fishing will be good, but it will be better early and late. Dries with small droppers, you pick the pattern. You'll do well.

September is right around the corner, then the next thing you know it's winter. And we all know that winter fishing, for those of us who are lucky enough to live where that's applicable, is the best fishing of all.

Once every blue moon

Social media is a wonderful annoyance. No other form of media can make me so ill so quickly, but then, I could be alone with no on-line friends, basking in the misery of talk radio. Been there, still go, but let's not talk about that.

Let's talk about the weather, women, sex, and fishing.

It's been hot. Damn hot, or, as Robin Williams said in Good Morning Vietnam,

"The weather out there today is hot and shitty, with continued hot and shitty in the afternoon. Tomorrow a chance of continued crappy with a pissy weather front coming down from the north. Basically it's hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut."

Walter Cronkite couldn't have said it better. And I'm over it. But the one thing that has been pleasing is the amount of rain. July was the wettest in many years, and the streams are looking to be in prime shape for Fall fishing. August has seen rain too, and that means September should be dry. Or so the old folks say.

I've been a bit of a wuss, and a broke one at that. With bills piling up as quickly as the heat index, I've taken to fishing lightly. Forced, anyway. Oh, sure, I get out some in the evenings, or early mornings, but I lack the desire to stay all day, hike, and face heat stroke. I'm sensitive to the heat which means that being from the Southeastern mountains, that are more like a tropical rain forest than anything else in the U.S., the father land isn't always too kind to this devoted son. But I persist. And regardless of what those scrawny westerners say, I'll take humidity over high desert any day.

I just got back from a trip, a family jaunt, more or less, during which I'd planned some fishing. Well, I got to fish, but on a stocked pond for large mouth and blue gill. Not the fun I'd intended, but that's what family is for.

Euripides said that one loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives. That wouldn't sting if it wasn't true.

And about women and sex... well, you got this far, didn't you? Pervert!

Griz