The mountains filled the entire sky line and would hold snow caps well into June. It was not more than a hundred yards between any given bodies of water. There were bustling mountain streams rolling over rounded rocks, throwing white foam to the surface. The trout there were as smart, if not smarter than the anglers who fish for them.Peppering the valley were ponds filled with fish, and frogs, covered in bright green lily pads with tall cat tail stalks scattered about.

It was such a visually stimulating environment the colors on the trees in autumn would explode in the late afternoon sunlight, and the little white buds on the mountain laurel lined the trails to assure an auspicious journey. The trails were endless, and hiking there was like walking through a North American animal exhibit at a museum. The animals were everywhere, from deer and rabbits in the meadows, to snakes and lizards slithering through the rocks.

The sounds and scents of that time still remain strong in my memories, and sometimes when I hear or smell them now, I am overcome with this nostalgia of a simpler time. It can be the sound of the peep frogs chirping a rhythmic song just before dusk, or the wind whistling through the long blades of grass in a meadow. It is also the sweet aroma of lilacs thick in the air like a fresh baked pie, and the nose curling stench of an alfalfa field after it rains. No matter what the trigger of my memory, it is always a welcome reminder of my childhood.

Although, I no longer have the innocent, carefree life of my youth, the memories of the mountain valley will remain with me.  It is with a sense of gratitude to myself, that I recall these memories. I am thankful that as a kid I took the time to appreciate the beauty of the mountains. My hope is that more kids will recognize the beauty of the world around them, and get out and enjoy it, learn to appreciate it, and care for it in the future!

What the hell are these morons in Albany thinking? They already tax the crap out of everything, including the new soda tax; that they are currently working on. What is frustrating is that they keep finding new ways to embezzle money from the hard working citizens of New York. Gas and food prices remain at an all time high. Mean while employers are taking advantage of the unemployment crisis by low balling their wages. No lie, I recently interviewed for a job with a local company that required a clean commercial license and 3+ years experience as a service technician. Being that I am qualified for the position, I thought great finally a decent job opening! Wrong, the low balling scums were only offering a salary barely above minimum wage. I mean really what are they expecting people to do, if we earn next to nothing, but pay, and pay, and pay ridiculous cost for everything.

What will be next? Maybe they will require an annual permit to walk your dog! Here is an idea, how about we tax the people that deserve it. Just in case you do not get what I am saying, here are a couple ideas for the government tax reform!

Lobbyist Tax- If you idiot politicians are going to continue to show favoritism and give special interest to the big corporation’s lobbyist, than tax the shit out of them for the privilege!

Politician Luxury Tax- Every time a government official attends a black tie event or fancy fund raising dinner, a portion of proceeds should be paid in taxes. This tax could be possible in countless situations.

Jail Tax- If a criminal is supported in our jail system, they should accrue a tax based on the time that tax payers supported there asses. They have no problem tallying up and smacking parents with ridiculous amounts of child support, so this should be an easy transition. You did a year in jail; you pay a year in taxes!

I am sure if I thought a while longer I could come up with more, but I think I made my point. It is a good thing that there is not an ignorance tax or we would have a country full of broke politicians. Where the hell do we go from here? This is just scary!

Here is my biggest and best idea; Elect our nation’s leaders based on their integrity, common sense, and work ethic. Not on the color of their skin, sex or political affiliation!

The best thing that could happen to our country is that we get a system lead by hard working Americans, not a bunch of bought Republicans and Democrats!

I don’t know how or why it happens, but ignorant people end up having the loudest voices! They end up being the decision makers and ultimately the ones screwing everything up.

Thanks for putting up with my ranting folks and as always, Fish On!

P.S. Replies are definitely welcome on this post…

These are some of my favorites!

‘If our father had his say, nobody who did not know how to catch a fish, would be allowed to disgrace a fish by catching it.”

“My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things, trout as well as eternal salvation come by grace, and grace comes by art, and art does not come easy. “

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.I am haunted by the waters!”

Enjoy, Fish On!

One morning last April, I headed out to Accord to pick up my fishing partners for the day. I usually drove us all because their homes were on my way to the reservoir anyway. By 6:15 am we had their gear loaded in the trunk, on top of mine, and we were headed for the water. We made our two usual stops on our way there, one for coffee and one for bait. We arrived at one of my favorite off shore fishing spots around 7:00 am. It is one of the few spots where three people with six poles can fit comfortably. We unloaded the car and took the long hike down the narrow trail through the woods. The morning seemed to be the warmest of the season thus far, and we had a good feeling about our chances of hooking something big. When we got to the shore, the water was like glass, not a ripple anywhere in sight. I remember telling my companions that these conditions were perfect for the big brown trout to be feeding.

We spread out along the shore line, setting up each pole with a rod holder and an empty can with a stick, which we used as an alarm on the fishing line. One by one, we baited each hook with a sawbellie minnow and cast the line straight out and then loosely fit the line around the stick in the can. After the poles were all baited and cast, we set up our tailgating chairs on flat sandy part of beach behind our poles. Now it was time to sit and wait for a can to tip over on the rocks and alert us of the presence of a trout.

An hour or so passed and no cans had yet fallen. I was nearly done with my coffee and considered joining my partners in their peace pipe session down the shoreline. Just then the loud clanging of my nephews can broke the silence. He immediately turned on his heels and made a staggered dash over the rocks to his fishing pole. It was plain to see his line whirling off the end of his reel; this was certainly a good fish. I tried to slow his excitement and urged him to let the fish run. “The big trout rarely swallow bait while on the move, and it is necessary to give them time,” I explained. Despite my efforts to guide him through, my nephew closed the bail, stopping the line. He then lowered the tip of his pole to the water. As the fish went out we could see the line pull tight and with a burst of force, he pulled the tip of the rod over his head. Then nothing, the loose excess line fell back to the water. My nephew began to reel in and he realized immediately he had missed his chance. When he got to the end of the line all that was there was a dead minnow with the imprint of teeth in a half moon shape on either side.

While mumbling a few obscenities, he staggered over to the bait bucket to replace his dead, scarred bait with a fresh lively one and cast his pole out again. As we all settled back in to waiting mode, we enjoyed a few laughs at my nephew’s expense. We suggested maybe from now on he should put off smoking his “happy pipe” until after lunch time. Another half hour passed and my nephew once again received the only action, but this time on his larger pole, which was set up closer to mine. He hesitated at first allowing the line to go out for a minute or so before picking up his pole. The line was unravelling at a very quick pace, So he began pulling the line off the reel quickly to keep the fish from feeling the resistance of the spool as less and less fishing line remained on the spool. We once again urged him to resist trying to set the hook too soon, but he expressed an unnecessary fear that he would run out of line. Once again he lowered the tip of the pole, closed the bailer and yanked the pole over his head. This time it appeared he had managed to hook whatever had taken his bait. He furiously began turning the handle of his reel. The drag system on the reel was screeching in sync with his motions, and for a solid fifteen seconds the excitement became contagious. Lou and I jumped from our seats at the same time. I grabbed the landing net and stumbled over the rocks to assist with bringing in the fish. About the time I arrived by my nephew’s side, his reel went quiet. He had again lost his chance to bring in the trout, and all of the adrenaline induced excitement came crashing down. This time his profanities were loud and clear, echoing against the mountains that surround the reservoir. He continued to release his frustration with fits of rage, much like someone suffering from Tourett Syndrome. He finally got to the end of his line, and he discovered he still had his hook with a bit of flesh remaining on the tip. Our enjoyment of his theatrical displeasure was hard to disguise as we turned and walked off in opposite directions of shore line. Our feeble attempt to hide our laughter failed to go unnoticed and was met with even more profanity.

Another hour and a half had passed, and the mood had began to pick up again. The conversation was focusing on lunch, and we were hoping to restore our optimism. So we gathered up the flattest rocks that we could find and built a make shift buffet table. The rustic menu consisted of readymade sandwiches, chips, and cold pasta salads, as well as Italian bread with a freshly made bruschetta. We each set up our plates and returned to our respective locations on the beach. We sat for several minutes enjoying lunch and the euphoric experience. We sat and absorbed the beauty of the rolling mountains, which were lit up with the afternoon sun.

I just finished the first half of my pastrami and swiss sandwich when the can fashioned to my white fishing pole launched from its perch and spiraled into the water. I walked over to my pole and checked that the line was free to come off of the spool without restriction. I then turned back to my plate to retrieve the second half of my sandwich.  My nephew looked at me with dismay and said, “Are you crazy! That thing is just gonna swim off with your bait!” I assured him that he would soon see why it takes patience to catch trout.  With a few bites remaining in my sandwich I stood and watched as my line stopped moving. I reached down and retrieved my can from the edge of the water and loosely reset the alarm.  Now I could sit and finish my lunch because after all, I knew that’s what was happening fifty yards out in front of me. My nephew expressed his “I told you so” as I sat back down, refusing to accept my explanation of what was happening. A few moments later my can was again spiraling through the air. This time I was on my feet before my can had reached the water. I grasped the bottom of the rod with my right hand and closed the bail with my left. I lowered the tip of the pole as the line tightened, and with a strong hard pull over my head, I felt the weight of the trophy fish as my hook sunk into its rib cage.

I gave a loud shout for someone to grab the net, as the muscles in my forearm burned from the strain of the fight. Twice this monster showed itself by leaping from the surface of the water. The first time he leapt at about forty yards out and then again as I pulled him toward the shallows. Each time it caused the drag on my reel to scream almost as if it were in pain. Once I had gotten him close enough to shore, I forced him to my left and beckoned my friend with the net to set up on my right. In one quick pass we had forced him into the bottom of the landing net. The battle was over, and I had won, My prize was a thirteen pound Brown Trout. Realizing I hadn’t taken a breath in over a minute, I let out a victorious howl. I pulled the mammoth fish from the net and headed a safe distance from the edge of the water. As I prepared to snap the line, I made a point of showing my nephew how deep in the belly of the fish the hook had been set.  As I tried again to explain the need to give the fish time to eat before setting the hook, he calmly replied, “whatever” and returned to his chair to pack his pipe.

I personally like country music and I can’t remember the last time I felt so good about someone else’s success. You can tell he is just a simple man from the heartland of America who truly deserves to get a break. He radiates emotion through his music and whether he wins the competition or not. I don’t think he is going to have to return to Kentucky to catch chickens or to his front porch to sing by himself.