“Hocus Pocus”

a very dark day needs some light to balance it out. this article cum memoir kindly sent in by Mark Surtees gleams with childhood fears that turn to admiration, magic, the realisation and appreciation that fly fishing is a lot more than just catching fish and most importantly, at least in my eyes, how we as sharers or teachers share and teach our passions. all too often, the what takes over the how but as with light and darkness, one doesn’t really mean anything without the other.

thanks again Mark for giving our readers another gem to reflect on and enjoy.


Hocus Pocus
(Focus, 1972)

Was it for fun as a kid on holiday or day trip? Perhaps it was in adolescence to distract you from a life of petty criminality, a developing meth habit or a wicked and dangerous career out on the cultural edge in politics, accountancy or law. Maybe it was as an adult just to help de-stress. Whenever it was, the chances are, one way or another, you were actively taught to fish. Very few people pick up fishing tackle of any description without encouragement and brief instruction from a third party.

My Grandfather taught me. Over cold fishless winters he would sit, black suited, in his high back chair, smoking bitter navy cut cigarettes, sour as wormwood, silent, waiting. Sometimes he looked at me with his old crow eyes and I wondered if he would lean forward and peck out my soul…..he didn’t, but I was only six years old and very, very afraid of him.

One spring, when the grasses were still flat from the snow and the primroses bloomed on the banks, I went with him to fish the local river. We sat among the streamside flowers and I watched him tackle up. He cast a beaten up bamboo rod with a broken tip that was patched with a short length of brass tubing, a greased kingfisher silk line and flies from an old mock tortoiseshell fly box which contained a few nondescript patterns he had tied himself long ago. I could see his fly land on the surface of the water, float a little, then disappear as a trout rose amongst the ripples in the run and took it.

For an impressionable little boy it was an act of unimaginable and astonishing magic, a fish conjured seemingly from nowhere. This relatively simple, deliberate and entirely expected catch on the part of my Grandfather caused a radical and entirely unexpected transformation in my childish opinion of him. I moved instantly from fear to fascination. I was six, he was a caster of spells, so I naturally concluded that he was, very obviously… a Wizard.

I begged him to teach me the magic, and, as I grew up, he did. It was of necessity an inexact, imperfect, ad hoc sort of instruction but it was a gift from Grandfather to Grandson of almost inestimable value. I think he knew that…me? I had no idea and he died long before I realised.

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Of course we all know that magic tricks do not happen by accident. They are repeatable, infused with purpose and completely within the control of the magician. Their objective is to deceive, just as ours is to deceive a trout in the stream when we fish.

Whilst, hopefully, we do not seek to actively bamboozle our clients in quite the same way, our lessons too are not, in many respects, significantly different to a well executed trick. If we structure and objectivise them properly then we too may surprise, amaze and delight.

Useful objectives should be observably measurable as far as is reasonably practicable and when we pick them they should be within the power of the student to achieve.
Appropriate selection of these achievable objectives allows students to build a succession of small but consistent learning wins. Each win a learned skill and each learned skill used to develop a new one and/or reinforce an old one.

For an instructor teaching within a “whole, part, whole” schema, it becomes critical to select suitable objectives so that common faults can be actively taught out without introducing negativity to the process. By doing this, within reason of course, new skills can be made to compound and combine largely error free.

That there are objectives for a student is a given. What is not so obvious, or maybe just not so often admitted, is that there are personal objectives for the instructor too. Whilst we may all wear the ego boosting insignia of our qualifications, the official regalia and psycho-protective badgery cannot really mask the ghastly truth, which is that we all, (well, most of us), have the same wonky limbic system and full complement of cognitive frailties as everyone else. So, I too want wins because this gives me a sense of achievement and I know I will instruct better and my student will learn better in a teaching environment which is giving us both positive rather than negative feedback.

In this context, although we clearly need subsets of grimly practical casting targets, there is no need to be emotionally dry with more abstract over-riding aims. Instruction isn’t just about a perfect PULD (Pick Up and Lay Down) or tail free loop, a quintuple toe hauled Jelly Roll or a cast out to the backing knot, it’s also a little bit about making people feel happy.

As a goal, I have to admit that this is very easy to say, not as easy as I ever first imagined to achieve and very difficult to objectively measure. But, sometimes, just sometimes, when you have had to do your very best sorcery to make it all happen, when those casts pop out from the turmoil like my Grandfathers perfect little trout from the ripple in the run, when you are dancing in a monastery garden with a beautiful laughing woman or being hugged by a big beardy biker on a wet suburban rugby pitch when the lessons end, then, you feel happy…and I like that…my Grandfather would have liked it too I think.

Mark Surtees ☺

taking walks and

enjoying a casting-fishing-free environment, playing around with the iPhone’s camera, deeply inhaling the colours.

dogride-m-fauvet-tlc-24-10-16
fairground pooch at rest
rockface-m-fauvet-tlc-24-10-16
part of a prison Catherine De Medici gave to the city i live in
cobra-spit-m-fauvet-tlc-24-10-16
cobra spit !
skysquares-m-fauvet-tlc-24-10-16
trailings
autumn-colours-m-fauvet-tlc-24-10-16
very big sneakers with flags
blending-in-m-fauvet-tlc-24-10-16
blending in
wired-m-fauvet-tlc-24-10-16
wired

Aude

Aude valley
photographed this afternoon in a place i love to go to think about nothing in particular and even if that nothing always has some elements of fly fishing, today’s post doesn’t have much to with fishing but since i’m always interested in seeing where other people live i thought i’d start doing the same. this area is the french département named Aude. like all other départements in France its named after the major river that runs through it.

starting off in the Pyrenées mountains somewhere near the highest peak visible in the background, it does what rivers are supposed to do; give us peace, fill our ears with nice gurgly sounds and of course give birth and provide life to all sorts of lovely creatures but today’s little trip was about taking in the sky, something that’s a lot harder to do riverside, specially when that riverside is mostly at the bottom of often steep canyons.

dry excursions like this are a little like knowing you have several bars of good chocolate in the cupboard while not giving in to the natural reaction of reaching for them. happy in the knowledge that they’re impatiently waiting to be nibbled, they’ll remain untouched until the calling calls.

aude valley 2

silence, real silence.

has become in my eyes (pun intended) the most precious commodity or perhaps put differently, the true meaning of luxury or even better yet: bliss.
by real i mean none, nothing, no sound whatsoever. no wind, no rippling water, no birds and even less man-made sounds: nothing.
i don’t get to experience total silence very often but when it happens its like being hit with a brick but this brick’s a nice brick. the kind that knocks back all distractions, increases awareness and the power of thought and as a side-bonus, it makes me all tingly.

the last time silence happened was a few months ago on a fishing trip to the Scottish Highlands. i was too busy doing the tingly thing at the time to even think of photographing silence besides, it’s not like it would show.
it didn’t happen in the scene below but for some reason this image reminds me of the moment but then, images can only be about the past and they rarely make sounds. maybe that’s why i like them so much.

silence m.fauvet-TLC 9-12-15

another view of France

no anger, no nationalism, no blood, no politics, no religion, no patriotism, no violence, no fear.
just fields.

stereotypes show us the Eiffel tower, baguettes, people with bad teeth, cheese and quite attractive women in mini-skirts and while all those can be rightly considered symbols of this nation, there’s of course a lot more to it than that. France, just like many other countries is primarily agricultural, take a flight over the country and almost all you’ll see are fields. real nature can be found here and there but man’s intervention dominates the landscape but that doesn’t necessarily mean that its unattractive. more than mere symbols of the need for food and commerce, they’re a strong reminder of the ones who created them.

this place is just around the corner but it could be anywhere. all these fields seem to convey the same feeling; one of peace and quiet, of serenity and timelessness and contemplation. these fields occasionally get washed out by storms, hail and even fire but they always grow back and so will those who made and loved and tended them for its their home and homes occasionally need to be rebuilt.

France m.fauvet-TLC 14-11-15

Delving into the Different- FurBirds

in a world (mine) where fly fishing and everything else somehow manages to combine i’m often confronted with difficult mind-numbing decisions such as:
– will this particular food enhance my day on the water ?
– are socks made by a fishing brand capable of outperforming (whatever that means) or be more comfy than non use-specific socks ?
– shall i shave before going to the river and other mojo-enhancing or destructive maybe make-or-break weirdnesses like,
“where’s that lucky cap, i’ll blank if i don’t have it !”,
taking the 9′ 5wt that caught that big brown instead of the 9′ 5wt that’s only caught little perch so far,
the “wait, this spot’s never fished well when the wind’s coming in from the Mediterranean”,
“you could be going out on a lunch date but you’d rather go out and wave a rod around instead ?!”
(i’m single. going out on dates means a lot more to us than you married/hooked-up lot)(at least it should, among other reasons, we don’t have that roll-over, “wanna ?” taken for granted convenience)

and then realising that Tuesday wasn’t open to fishing after all as there where several non-fly fishing things spread out throughout the day planned well in advance that had been duly noted in the agenda that hardly ever if ever gets read which in the end leaves a dour D’Oh, a sour taste, a lingering smell of anticipatory sweat and several bags laying by the front door looking stupid and lonely that remind me of a dog one would have gotten all excited by telling it they where going for that long-needed relief walk, had grabbed the leash and then at the last moment yelled feckit all ! and deciding to watch videos that have absolutely nothing to do with fly fishing instead.
something like these FurBirds