was out streamside seeing things that aren’t really there,
when out of the corner of the eye i saw this beautiful little puff look up in my direction and continue towards me picking up wee morsels along the way, chomping them down quickly.
the main camera and tripod where precariously balanced on a pointy boulder so i grabbed a few images of Mr. Mouse with the phone. its not the smallest of phones but i can only imagine that it probably must have seemed as a wall to him but that was neither here nor there for this guy, he was on a mission, a straight-line mission.
here he is bottom-right pushing against the phone to get through ! 😆
take care Mr. Mouse, you made my day.
poor guy. an exciting name like Publius Vergilius Maro gets vulgarly reduced to Virgil to what, simplify its pronunciation to the masses ?… anyhow, Publius the Poet wasn’t referring to some schmaltzy romanticism when he wrote that but was a deep understanding of one of the only real boundaries that nature on earth has to offer. shores, whether they be in fresh or salt, in still, flowing or seas are the demarcation point between us and them but its also where the two of us can meet as we’re both inextricably attracted to this boundary each one safely in our comfort zones. sometimes we mingle, sometimes we don’t and that’s just fine because something within told us to go there and we simply did what we where supposed to do.
meh… there i go doing exactly one of the things i dislike the most about contemporary photography and any kind of art in general. something i’ve (unsuccessfully) been (mildly) fighting against ever since i did photo school in 1982:
finding the need to put words to images where the image should tell the story on its own and whatever the viewer sees or not or feels or not is their own private business and not mine. besides, i’m a really shitty writer, i know it. it’s just not my thing and i definitely don’t enjoy it and it shows. i’ll try to not fall into that trap again so,
here’s a shore that had its own story to tell.
which sort of describes how I feel at the moment but while I still have my shuck, this little guy’s a lot better looking than me.
here’s a first glimpse of my annual springtime Scottish tour that I hope you’ll enjoy.
“Aquatic entomologists place little emphasis on body color when attempting to identify a mayfly species. They collect virgin, male, mayfly spinners, and dissect them to clearly see their penes (mayflies have two). They then count the spines on the penes and compare them to photos in books to identify each species. There is no way to be sure of the species from a female spinner, and you may not be able to tell from a nonvirgin male. No kidding! I couldn’t make this stuff up.”
see ? as seemingly far-fetched, mind-boggling, thought-provoking and mostly giggly because it’s not like these two thingies are going to double their pleasure.., as much as i like to make up shit i didn’t make up this post’s title either.
seeing how some aquatic bugs breathe through their butts and then all the others do all sorts of other weird things, that one little fact (ok, two) doesn’t help us all that much if we’re trying to match a hatch on the stream but it’s all good to know because well, knowing is better than not knowing, it’s cool and this kind of stuff is just a reminder that fiction usually isn’t so far-fetched after all. the weird and mostly wonderful is all around us and it’s real.
Paul Weamer’s excellent article, Understanding Mayflies on Fly Fisherman -via Erin Block’s super-duper Tippet section at MidCurrent- doesn’t give us all the answers either but goes a long way in getting to know our little friends a little better.
click either pick to access the complete article and please excuse the fact that the main character in the second image isn’t a mayfly but hey, it might turn into one if you stare at it long enough… enjoy !
this little farm pond has had many names in the past. it started as Mystery Pond X but that’s so common it was regularly confused with all the other Mystery Pond Xs around the globe so i had to get a little creative.
it used to have stocked rainbow trout in it so Lake Trouto seemed to make sense, at least in a non-confusing yet highly mindless and tacky way. the owner, a very kind, gentle and very old man whose nose is the same colour and size as a basketball stopped stocking trout a while back and the ones that where left-over eventually turned into food for furred, winged and slimy two-legged creatures but there had always been grass and common carp in there so Trouto turned into Carpo.
Lake Carpo sounds cool but after ten or so, yes, ten or so years… i’ve yet been able to properly hook one of these scaled giants. i did foul hook a grass carp whilst targeting trout years ago but it broke off the tippet in about as much time as it takes to say Lake Carpo three times really quickly. the carpers out there will scoff at my lack of success but that’s something i can live with. i’ve caught plenty of carp but just never in this little ghost carp pond-hell and that’s ok too because maybe that’s what will make Carpo so memorable.
next up was the small yet always fun and forever beautiful perch that seemed to thrive in there. i’d had several 50+ perch landing days with a personal best of 76 but they seem to have teleported themselves wherever it is that perch teleport themselves. i almost forgot, at that stage the pond of course took on the Lake Percho nomenclature. normal.
i’m probably wrong but for the moment i consider this pond to now be fishless to the point where i still go regularly to practice my casting but don’t even bring any flies to not be distracted if some fish happened to magically appear.
you got it, things go full circle so in a fit of total lack of renaming creativity, this little cutie has a new name:
Casting Pond X.
this is the back view at CPX. funny, i’d never noticed how beautiful it could be…