Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do

"Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do!"


What a great mantra...

and it fits in perfectly with my life of late...

I have some major challenges with which I struggle and deal on pretty much a daily basis.

Yet, I somehow manage to get along.

and fish on a supra-regular basis.

For me, abstinence from fishing is not an option.

I also find that the less self pity and the more gratitude I indulge in... the better off I am.

The perfect opportunity arose last weekend when fellow AR angler, Ryan Miller invited me to help out at his Downstream Outreach Program.

Ryan grew up with his younger brother, Mark (KOOL NAME@!) who was diagnosed as having Down Syndrome.

As Ryan grew up and metamorphosed into a fishing fanatic... he was diagnosed as having Down-Stream Syndrome and rather than fight it... he became a fishing guide.

Looking back, he realized that his brother actually taught him a good many things most notably, attentiveness, patience, perseverance, and compassion~:)

Mark admired and looked up to his brother and vice-versa I'm sure.

I bet they've fished a good many streams together over the years...

Ryan must have pondered how cool it would be to share his love and passion for the sport of fishing not just with his bro but with many young folks who often, because of their somewhat different appearance and exaggerated behaviors, get shunned by mainstream society.

And hence, Downstream was set into motion.

This was the third year of the annual event Ryan designed to connect special-needs folks with something very real, engaging, and inspirational.

I got a bit lost on the way to the event and not once or twice mind you... but three times. When all else fails, read the address on the directions!

That was what finally got me there.

I hadn't missed much as the band was just starting to move towards the pond.



I decided to just help out wherever needed and try to capture the essence of the day with camera and memory card.



It seems to me that human nature has a tendency towards remorse and sympathy for folks like Mark and Alison, Oscar and Peter, Chele and Sam who happen to have been born with a condition like Down Syndrome. I have pondered the hows and whys of this many times throughout my life and the best I can come up with is that there is a design far grander and far more purposeful than our mortal minds can conceive... a plan, a purpose which defies our limited comprehension and preconceptions of right/wrong, good/bad, normal/strange...

...and anyone with open eyes, mind and heart could surely see that these folks needed no sympathy. I walked the perimeter of "BOW'S END" 1/2 a dozen times during the course of the day...



and everywhere I went I saw only enthusiastic, jubilant, happy, smiling faces.



I think everyone must have read the back of the shirt that day and taken heed to John Wooden's directive:



The clouds and drizzle subsided and the morning sun emerged. There were 20-something students and at least twice that many volunteers.

I saw some old/new friends whom I'd met on my home river; Adrian, Theresa, Jason H., Rob, Charlie G. and also made many new friends during the course of the day.

It should come as no surprise that veteran angler, Mark Miller would put the bends to the first trout of the day... and what a fish! Way to go Mark!!





The program was divided into 4 sections:

CASTING






FISHING













Sometimes, the individuals who least enjoy 'living in the limelight'... are the ones who most inspire and leave the greatest, lasting impressions... Such is the case with Alison. I asked permission to take her photo at the FISH ART station and she was quite reluctant. Later in the day, I watched her fight and land a trout. The volunteers brought the netted fish to her and while we were all focused on the photo opportunity, Alison was concerned only with getting the fish back to the pond as quickly as possible... "Oh poor fish. We need to put it back NOW so it can LIVE!"



Way to go Alison! Many of our fisheries and anglers thereof could use the guidance of your wisdom and compassion...

FLY-TYING







FISH ART








Making repeated smooth casts, tying up the perfect wooly bugger, painting a 'rainbow-whale' and fighting lots of fish demands much energy so by noon time, everyone had worked up quite the healthy appetite.

Ryan gathered up the troops and passed out some fishing literature courtesy of one of the event sponsors.





I expected 'mundane burgers' and/or 'quick and dirty dogs' Man, was I surprised!

The spread of food was incredible: gourmet hot dogs, marinated/grilled chicken breast, fresh big-leaf lettuce, sweet, juicy tomatoes, succulent strawberries, pineapple, grapes and assorted other fruits.



Chef extraordinaire and fellow American River angler and guide, Charlie Gonzales and his entourage of helpers were responsible for the awesome eats. This guy knows how to cook... THANKS CHARLIE!



After the fine food and a bit of R&R, we went back to the pond to battle more bows.








Many more fish were caught and many more smiles were shared.

I left Downstream 2009 feeling as though we had each accomplished something very worthwhile and had learned a bit more about who we are in the process.


And in the end... The love you take, is equal to the love
you make~:)

Sir Paul McCartney ~1969~

THE STRIPED BASS NEED YOU~PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE SIGN THIS PETITION!

To those of you who don't immerse yourself, live, breath, toil, sweat, daydream, drool and celebrate in the splendor of our Sacramento/San Joaquin Delta fisheries...

You wouldn't know this... but there is currently a bill in the US Senate (drafted by assembly woman, Jean Fuller) which comes up for review on April 28th. which if passed would be devastating to the striped bass population and fishery and ultimately to most if not all fisheries and all forms of flora and fauna in the delta which depend on a sustained, healthy inflow of fresh water.

The bill seeks to remove the striped bass from game fish status and remove any and all restrictions on their take. Ultimately, this would very likely extirpate the striped bass from our pacific coast and inland watersheds.

In a nutshell, striped bass were introduced (from New Jersey) to California in 1886 as they are a hardy and desirable game fish species. These fish thrived and coexisted with salmon, steelhead, sturgeon, delta and long fin smelt, and all of California's native species in healthy numbers for over 125 years.

The relatively-recent, sharp decline- particularly in salmon and the endangered delta smelt- has been scientifically proved to correlate with increased water exports and NOT predation by striped bass.

In fact, the numbers of striped bass themselves, have decreased exponentially right alongside the fish they are being charged with endangering.

The bill is backed by California agribusiness farmers and the politicians whose votes are bought and sold by such constituencies.

The greatest travesty is that with no scientific basis, a group of politicians is attempting to divert public attention and awareness away from the truth (that the faltering state of our delta ecosystems is directly related to increased fresh water exports) in order to promote their agenda (to divert and export even more fresh water from that already fragile ecosystem).

The baseless conclusion, portraying striped bass as the main culprit in the disappearance of delta smelt and salmon stocks is merely the latest (red herring) attempt at justifying greater water exports out of the Sac/SJ Delta under a false premise.

After all, if the public buys the propaganda and is duped into believing that striped bass, rather than lack of water, is responsible for dwindling salmon and delta smelt populations, the bureaucrats may proceed unchecked to increasingly drain the delta.

Anyone who has fished this region since the 1960's can tell you (not from politics, not from studies nor collected data but rather from first-hand experience) how the numbers of sport-fish of ALL species have exponentially declined since the 1960's when water exports were significantly increased.

Yes, there are other factors which challenge the survival troubled fish species; habitat loss, climate, oceanic, estuarine, riverine conditions, pollution, poaching, and cyclical events... but it does not take a rocket scientist to know that above all, fish need water and in the absence of water, they will perish.

I love to fish for striped bass and so of course I do not want to see them eradicated... but my bigger concerns are A) the overall health of the Sac/SJ Delta ecosystem and B) our rights as anglers who pay increasing revenues each and every year to have the privilege and right to enjoy the sport of fishing... both of which will certainly be severely compromised if this bill is passed into legislation.

And what will be next? Will largemouth bass, smallmouth bass, bluegill, crappie, American shad, threadfin shad, brown trout, brook trout, lake trout, kokanee, white/yellow/black/brown/blue/flathead and channel catfish (and the list of California's currently-thriving non-native fish species is MUCH longer) all be wiped out also due to their non-native status?

I hope that someday, humankind will wake up and take responsibility for the travesties it has inflicted upon our suffocating planet. There are places (like Alaska) I've never been but which I hold close to heart simply knowing that they have largely remained wild and free from the spoils of our species....

I sincerely hope that whether or not you fish, you'll see through to the core of what this 'anti-striper' legislation is really about and will opt to at least click on the link below and sign the petition to undermine it.

Please click on the underlined links below. If you need to get back to this page, you can left-click the left arrow on your web browser page or hit the BACKSPACE button on your keyboard.

VIDEO OF LOCAL ANGLERS EXPLAINING THE SITUATION


PETITION

THANKS!
Mark L. Lynn

The End of the Drift Aint Always the End of the Drift

How many times have you heard...

"MAN! That thing bit right next to the bank!!"

or

"Those fish are closer than you think..."

or

"I was reeling up and I got SLAMMED!"

or in the 'fly-guys' world... "It often pays to let your fly sit for a second or two after it completes its swing as fish will often grab it on the hang-down..."

We are a culture, a society, a people of ACTION, of DOING, of TRYING of EXERTION to exhaustion. Much is good, more is more BETTER. The harder you work, the luckier you get...

This inevitably translates to our world of fishing. I am 101% guilty of the hardcore approach to fishing. To me the hunt is anything but leisurely or passive. I don't fish to relax, reminisce, remedy my ills or recreate my auric essence (though I'm sure those benefits are often a byproduct...) I fish to CATCH FISH! and I'll hike 10 miles, drive 1,000 and trade an empty wallet, dehydration, exhaustion, hunger, sleep deprivation, hypothermia, and mental fatigue for a good time on a river somewhere.

Further, as a semi-hopeless product of my environment... I do at least somewhat buy in to the fact that the more water I cover, the farther I cast and the faster I reel up to make the next drift... the greater my odds are of getting my rod bent.

I went out to the river not far from my home one day in March. I had just come off a trip to the Russian River where my friend Vic, a long-time steelheader extraordinaire, had opened my mind up to a few things about the likes of winter steelhead.

He had generously sent me on my way with some of his "the redder, the bedder" steelhead candy.

The day was one of those freeze-frame days with billowing clouds and soft light that makes your surroundings seem like some place out of an old oil painting. Perfect weather and even more perfect lighting.

I took some panoramic shots before setting up to fish.




I'd gotten a late start and only had a couple of hours to try and make something happen.

The water was up a bit and I figured I'd be able to locate some smaller spring fish if not some winter downers.

I used spoons, goofy worms, real worms and couldn't get a bite to save me. The only thing I hadn't tried was one of several smatterings of red roe I'd laid out on paper towels in a small, Tupperware container buried in the lower-right pocket of my worn-out fishing vest.

I re-rigged and found a suitable corkie to keep my eggs out of the clay, mud and gravel.

Many casts later, I was convinced that there wasn't a steelhead nor even a smolt within miles of me. I casted farther and reeled and dropped to give the bait and the bob more action. I worked the far shore, the seams, the rapids and runs, the flats above and the tailouts below but always came up with an unchanged wad of bait... same size, same shape, same color.

I started to feel a bit burned out, almost nauseous. Still, I cast and I drifted down to where surely any self-respecting steelhead would be absolutely honored to hold...

The sun was just sinking towards the horizon. My back was killing me and time was running short. I wasn't dreading the thought of a fish-less trip at all but I WAS dreading that I had only been here for an hour and a half and that soon I would have to leave.

I reached in to my wader pouch for a smoke. Thoughts of, "AGGHHH, I should have stayed home instead of driving and walking all this way for 2 short hours of fishing! I grabbed my lighter and put flame to the Marlboro clenched in the corner of my mouth and as I struck the flint wheel and depressed the butane button, I felt my Loomis shaking between my legs.

WTF?

It shook again and this time, the vibrations registered in my knuckle-head. NO W@Y! I got a F-I-S-H!

Shit, Howdy! Expect it when you least expect it. My line had finished its swing through the sweet spot about the time I fetched the smoke. Somewhere between my questioning whether I should even have come out fishing and lighting up a smoke... a fish had sniffed up my dangling roe in 2 feet of water about 18 inches off the bank.

The lil steelie put up a spirited fight for a small, recovering down-runner and got the skunk off my back.




By Fish-Sniffer and other 'internet-wizards-of-the-waterways'... it was A CHROMER!

Hah hah hah, I'm glad they don't know any better~;)

Turned out to be a productive day... and not because of the one small fish I caught and released but because I was re-educated on a simple, already-known fact... that when water comes up, fish get out of its way. It was a day that plunkers might do better dropping than casting and drift boaters would benefit from less boondogling and more side-drifting. In my case, it paid to light a smoke, prolong the end of my drift and let my knees answer the wake-up call in the soft 'holding' water below me.

M

Pretty in Pink~The PMESL Strikes Again@!

Yah this is old hat considering I've taken a road trip to Oregon, fished 10 different spots for three different species on 4 different bodies of water and lost a monster striper since this outing 2 weeks ago...

I set out on this day to revisit one of my fave' haunts downriver and see if I could conjure up one of those spring time steelie-heads.

Having had my truck broken into on two almost consecutive trips... I wasn't all that excited about parking in the access lot so I instead parked in the hood and walked the extra 1/4 mile in to the river.

Spring was definitely in the air and I nearly broke a sweat under the weight and tension of neoprene waders and my usual pack full of shit. not shit, stuff... mostly stuff which I'd never take out much less use... but one must always be prepared.

I passed this tree along the way and it stood out with its bold PINK-ness... could be a sign?



On the river, I threw roe and worms and spoons and even a spinner or two but what finally got bit was the pink on pink Poor Man's Egg Sucking Leech.





The whole concept is a sham... There is no such thing. Leeches attach to organisms with a reasonable amount of blood to sustain their parasitic/metabolic needs... Eggs while in the skein, get their O2 dissolved in blood from their mom's ovarian arteries. When they eye out and develop an embryonic sac they get blood and nutrients from it. But a single egg, in its early developmental stages, has scarcely enough blood to sustain itself much less feed something 10 times larger than itself...

Sometimes shit just works with no rhyme nor reason and without scientific justice.





It didn't work THAT good as I managed only the one hen and a smolt before leaving the river.



It was nice to get out and to be shown by a couple fish that the PMESL is not just a fluke (pun intended).

I Love Dogs... More Than Their Owners...

"I like dogs better than humans

Both have heads but only dogs got brains

I like dogs much better than humans

It's the owners of the dogs who need collars and chains.

Dogs are instinctual, loyal and true.

Humans are dumb-asses; haven't got a clue.

I like dogs better than humans

Dogs dig dig dig just playin' in the yard

and don't jig jig jig things around so hard.

A pat on the back, a clean place to shit,

Throw 'em a bone and they're all over it.

No need to be extravagant nor make up lies

A dog barks it like it is and looks you in the eyes

Scratch like hell when you got a flea and lift your leg when you got to pee.

Don't worry 'bout naked or hiding in the stalls

Feel free to reach around and lick those balls

Dogs don't marry and dogs don't beg

They shake and jump and they'll hump your leg.

Who is the master? and who is the pet?

Who picks the shit up? and pays for the vet?

I like dogs better than humans.

I don't have to own one to know that it's true.

A dog's life is so named for a reason.

In the doggies paws is me and you."

I wrote that lil ditty a time ago after a day on the river...

I'd hiked many miles to find my place of solitude. The fish were jumpin' I was all rigged up and ready to 'rip some lip' as they say...

I made a cast and as my line drifted along the opposite bank, I noticed an over-energetic golden-retriever.

Great dogs... full of love and slobber and always so starved for attention furry beasts that they are...

I reel up and prepare to make cast #2 when I notice said Golden's master (a woman) has approached the same river bank I am casting to. She decides she wants in on the action too but she doesn't have a fishing rod... she has one of those gay, blue rubber spikey/squeaky balls and she lobs it in to the river in the exact spot I am trying to catch a fish.

Ker-SPLASH goes doggy and the gay ball and the water and the froth and the foam and the shockwaves AND I's sure... THE FISH!

Geez Lady? Ya think you might find another place to play fetch in some 1,000 square miles of river bottom BESIDES directly in front of a fisherman whose daintily wading lightly presenting his line to a fish that flinches when it sees the shadow of a dragonfly?

Yeah, I didn't think so...

Anyway, that was last year (though dog-owner disrespect is sometimes an every day occurrence on the American River).

I was out one morning fishing a favorite stretch of the AR 2 weeks ago. I had caught one fish and was scouting for more when I heard a rustle in the brush across the way. I looked up to see a young doe come crashing through the trees.



I heard another, larger animal upriver from her position as she disappeared in to a thicket.

I expected another doe or perhaps a buck to show himself.

What instead appeared was a large black German Shepard with ears erect and tongue dripping out the side of his agape mouth.





The deer reappeared and the dog was now in hot pursuit. Said deer is confused and stressed a bit to say the least...



Dog chases deer. Deer runs.



Deer goes to island. Dog goes to island.



Deer goes in water. Dog jumps in for a swim.





As this is happening, I'm amused and am taking full advantage of this strange scenario with my Nikon. If only I'd had a telephoto instead of a wide angle lens...

The deer goes further into the river's depths and I'm most certain that the dog will fall back but NOPE, he does not. He runs and jumps at the deer.



So far, no blood, no biting, no barking, no apparent intent to kill on the dog's part but the deer isn't so convinced of this at all and she's starting to look a 'little wet behind the ears'. Actually, she's a LOT wet behind the ears and her ears are pinned back like a rabbit ready for the butcher block.



The lightswitch turns on in my head... "Get your ass out of the camera view finder and call this dog off before 'Bambi' has a conniption.

Alas, I look at the relentless canine and scream out, "HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" which does in fact, send the dog zipping off in retreat to the hills from which he scurried down after his 'new friend' only minutes before.



The deer is taking no chances and so takes leave of the area and begins swimming out in to the faster currents of mid river. I can see her shaking and panting as she wearily weaves her way across the river towards me. She pauses to glance back at her unwanted, black, furry companion with the mouth full of meat-shearing teeth.



I've seen many a deer cross the river in much deeper, wider and faster water and they normally do so with speed and precision but being stalked, chased and harassed into a river crossing is completely different situation. Besides, this was a yearling, well past her spring ago's fawn stage but not yet matured in to capable doe-dom. She was uncertain but determined to do what needed to be done.

I started to run down river thinking I might need to intervene and rescue the tired girl. Thoughts of nervous hooves kicking me in the face and then a fear of my stressing her out even more and in the end being the ultimate cause of her untimely death... stopped me mid way. I looked at her and she at me...



I continued to watch from a distance and took a few final photos as she caught her breath and grasped the river bed with her outstretched front hooves. She slowly regained her composure and hobbled on to terra firma.





She sauntered along the hillside and once behind a grove of young alders, burst quickly out of sight.

I was happy for the deer but had to wonder about the dog...

I wonder what the Osprey thought of all this? He was really high and he watched it all go down~;)



M

Nothin' Like the Real Thing... but MUCH BETTER~Plastics for Steelies and Bass

I have little room and low tolerance for superficiality in most aspects of life...

Make it right, make it real or just shut up and done the deal~

But fish don't always want a straight shot nor do they always have the conscious-keen-eye to see through the fluff...

That works out quite well for me in the spring.

I lean towards artificials in all of my fishing endeavors. My salmon and steelhead GO-TO is the spoon. My striped bass weapon of choice is the swimmer or surface plug and for bass of the green, landlocked variety... poppers, jerks, or plastics make up the gist of my arsenal...

There are times when a wad of roe, a live shad or pike minnow or a night crawler beckon to 'pinch-hit' for the usual lineup of offerings to the hard hitters of respective species... and spring time in particular is a time when bugs, bait-fish and worms are first-choice on the menu for fish coming out of their sleepy winter slumber.

Off to the river I went. The water was still a bit high and colored up so ditched the fly rod and got back to my roots...

Had the full Himalayan-excursion pack and vest outfitted and ready for any bait or hardware scenario.

I got down to the water where a couple days prior, I'd hooked a 5# chromer blue-back. It was one of those text-book moments that happened right in front of a resting blue kayak and its pilot. The fish exploded out of the water with my gold spoon in her mouth. One cartwheel and two head-shakes later I was on the phone crying to Benny about the chromer that got away... Sometime during our conversation I discovered the reason she got away. My spoon was dangling an empty split ring at its obtuse end. Somehow, the fish (or the fisherman) managed to slip the hook from the ring before or during the fight which never really transpired...

So today, I was well-stocked and oh so prepared to get revenge. Only, one small problem... I reached in to my vest pocket to find a weight and there were no weights. Hooks? I had ONE. Bottom bouncing gear? NOPE! I left my night-crawlers on the kitchen table also.

I had somehow managed to leave most of the 'most-essentials' behind... Here's that making the best of it theme again...

I did happen to have my rod pre-rigged with a float and the one hook I had in possession so I figured that's what I'd be using.

I pulled out one of the bags I did bring, loaded to the gills with puffed plastic, blown foam and molded latex... Corkie? Puff Ball? Spin N Glo? Mad River Flouro's? nah, nah, nah.

Ah SNAUSAGES! actually, Berkley bubble-gum Power Worms, yah that's sexy. Perfect for the dirty water just wish I had some weight to bounce it but I didn't so I rigged up the pink-pearl Worden's DB and the snipped strapped a snausage on the shiney lil #6 Gami' and started browsing the waters. I had crossed the river earlier and decided to make my way back along the only large, sweeping tailout in the area.

I damn near stepped on a 6-7# upriver bright. I tried to retreat and recoup a drift but I'd already sent that fish 2 miles upriver with my shadow.

I saw a spawning hen near the opposite bank so figured there had to be some life around. I tossed the PMESL (poor-man's egg-sucking leech) into the sweep rage of the tailout directly downriver from me and I felt the slam a good two seconds before I watched my bobber drown...

Not a big fish but definitely an upper and purdy one...




I set her free with renewed expectations of bigger and brighter fish but you know what they say about expectations... I later tossed hardware in all the right places but got repeatedly rejected.

Not a bad day at all considering I'd left most of my gear at home...

One of the great gifts of the trip was the renewed confidence in plastic worms for spring trout. Night crawlers are such a pain in the ass... to get, to store, to keep, to thread, to sustain, to cast, to use...



I went home and found all the stuff I had left right where I had left it funny how that works.

The day was young and the sun was shining so I figured on a quick scout to the local pond. Fake worms worked in the river why not feed some to the bass?

I grabbed my trusty RB's, hooks and some lead and was off.

Can't say it was on fire but 5/6 on the first scout of the season wasn't a bad score...





Nothing better than a Bi-fecta except a TRI-fecta... but that may be a week or two away~;)

Gotta love the latex!
M

Condensed Winter/Spring American River Chronicles

So much to say, so little time to say it...

Much to reflect on of my many days wading the waters and kicking up cobbles in my riparian temple of sanity...

and insanity...

Here's our boy RHook tussling with a bug-eater... The fishing was decent that day and the 'emergers' were finally starting to show in numbers which would soon undermine the deeper meaning of the quest for mighty, winter steelhead...



Eventually, the time came to explore new, old haunts and rediscover lost connections with the river and the landscape...

I encountered another angler who actually depended on procuring fish for its survival.



Sometimes, I feel like a great blue heron... ever wading, ever watching, ever stalking, often desperate to bring a fish to hand or foot, sometimes just blending in and waiting stealthily and hopeful that my perseverance will be rewarded. Puffing up my feathers and making a ruckus when an intruder approaches the water I've chosen to canvass...



With February comes the emergence of catkins on the alder trees signaling the silent but sure approach of spring. The heron and I have different agendas... I seek quiet water and solitude. The heron, dressed in colorful head plumes and neck feathers and sporting a new, yellow bill, seeks to be noticed by his future nest mate where together they will join the throng of other nesting, noisy birds in their tree-top rookery.

Numbers of large, winter steelhead give way to a greater populace of smaller fish. I can't recall where I caught this little guy...


but he had remarkable teeth!



The quest continued and I was only too happy to have traded this...



for THIS!





to be continued...

One morning, I set out not far from home with only the sissy stick and a vest full of flies. The water was big and brown (something it hadn't been for at least a year...) and so I opted to ditch the egg and nymph patterns and use the biggest bugs in my boxes... wooly buggers, coneheads, streamers. I got to the river and before crossing out to the island, I strapped on the black/grey spey fly Bill Lowe had left me with a week before. It made sense to swing something with profile and darker colors in the stained water. Of course my confidence level was about that of a Charlie Brown inviting Lucy to a swinger's club pardon the pun...

I launched the thing toward the edge of a tailout and let it drift down the glide and repeated the motion. On the second swing, my fly stopped before the point it logically should have. Ah shit, F-ing SNAG! POP, POP, WHOAHHHHHHHH it's MOV-ing!! My rod tip danced above the weight of the fish which answered my klutsy hookset with a few hefty head-shakes the last of which sent me back to sit in a corner with my shortened, fly-less tippet.

DAMN! those things DO work...

I had high hopes with a respectable adult on and off in only the first few minutes of my outing... but after a several hours, a few hundred casts, four river crossings and many traded fly patterns, I had only an education, one other lost steelie and a sucker (ate wolly buggers) to show for my fly fishing session. I attributed the first fish to a Karmic experience and had thoughts about how my 'luck' might have changed had I brought some bait or hardware... No worries though, I needed the practice and the change of pace.

On my way out, I was reminded that simplicity and resourcefulness is often superior to abundance and preparedness. You can't always have all things exactly as you would like them but you CAN always make the best of what ya' got right now...

Case in point...



or perhaps I should say, "Casa on Point"