Category Archives: Adventures

Create something…

Published / by Tim

The last couple of weeks I’ve been messing around with creating things. I started by showing my kids how to make fairly simple “paracord” or “survival” type bracelets. This is not to say that with one of these bracelets you would be ready for a zombie apocalypse… but it wouldn’t hurt your odds. I have enjoyed messing around with paracord for several years. I am amused that my older child, once she had the basic idea, almost immediately struck out on her own to find a bit more challenging and interesting bracelet pattern to make out of paracord.

More recently, I started messing around with a kids watercolor instructional guide. Gotta start somewhere, right? I would say it is a guide insofar as it has directions if one takes the time to read them. I mainly look at the pictures and then slop some paint on the page… and see what happens. I call the series, “Anyone Can Paint But That Doesn’t Mean They Should”

#1 “Viewfinder”. I was simply seeing how the brush worked at filling up space, making lines and filling in a circle. Woohoo…

Viewfinder

#2 is “Hill-arious” and I was messing with washes and mixing colors both on and off the paper…

Hill-arious

Believe it or not, in just two painting moments I have learned a lot. Watercolors are interesting. Get them on paper and while they are wet it’s almost like they have a mind of their own. If the paper is wet and you put two colors even remotely close to each other, they are like bunnies, making new colors right before your eyes. Those colors are not always what you intended, or wanted, but no matter, the deed is done.

I’m not going to go on and on about painting, that’s not really the point. The point is, I want to challenge you to make something and share it with someone. Anyone.

This blog is kind of like that… I create something and share it. Sometimes it’s good and sometimes it’s not so good. But in sharing, I think I get better.

Go create something and share it. If it’s digital, share a link in the comments… I’d love to see what you have going on.

Something fishy is going on here….

Published / by Tim

I am having issues with my intended post so I thought I’d share a story I wrote a long time ago. I never published this story anywhere and may wish I hadn’t now, but here goes nothing…

A Fish Story

The air was heavy as dawn arrived. The sun had been up barely an hour and already heat waves rose from the pavement. Droning insects and waking songbirds were the only living things to be heard. The rest of the world was still asleep.

It’s a two mile walk to Miller’s pond. I left early to beat the heat packing a peanut butter sandwich in waxed paper and my canteen.  If I were going to catch anything I’d need to have a line on the water soon. It was shaping up to be another scorcher and I wanted to get in an hour of fishing before the sun hit the water.

Miller’s pond is an abandoned gravel pit that connects to the Whisky river by a short channel. It’s one of the best warm water fisheries in the area. When the gravel company quit using the pit, they bulldozed the sides to eliminate steep drop-offs. In the bulldozing aftermath several large trees were left submerged in the water. The result was a superb habitat for bass.

Gigantic largemouth bass were believed to exist down there. My cousin claimed to have caught a five pounder there the previous summer. According to him, It was a fight to remember. For nearly twenty minutes he played the bruiser, managing to avoid the underwater hazards that could have easily snapped his line. As he told the story, I was inspired.

I was armed with a 4 weight fly rod given to me by my grandfather for my sixteenth birthday. The rod was assembled and finished by grandpa in a class he had taken before he died. He had never used the rod, but it was beautiful. The blanks were matte black and the line guides were wrapped with red and silver thread. It had a dark brown, marbled wood reel seat with a flawless cork grip, and stainless steel hardware. He had inscribed his initials in the reel seat. He’d been proud of his first attempt at rod building. At first, I felt guilty about using it but grandpa would have expected me to fish the rod and not just sit and look at it.  I was counting on a big fish to put the rod through it’s paces. I picked out a frog pattern fly and a couple chartreuse poppers along with an assortment of terrestrial flies to complete my arsenal. With all my gear I set out. My vest felt good on my shoulders as I walked.

Miller’s pond is one of the best kept secrets in the valley. It’s a great place if you’re the only one there. It is crowded if more than three people try to fish it. It’s not a tiny pond, but there isn’t much access to the water. Having been a gravel pit, it is a remote place that has become wild and overgrown with curly maple, cottonwood and blackberry vines. The best way to fish the pond is to take a float tube down there and get out in the middle. As for me, part-time work at Smith’s IGA doesn’t buy float tubes. I had to do without and play the game the best I could from shore.

When I arrived, John Worrel was already camped out in my favorite spot. Worrel is not one you want to crowd while fishing. He’s territorial like a grouchy old dog. He makes a lot of noise if you disturb him.  I climbed down the bank to a spot about 15 yards away from John, he nodded in my direction and went back to snoozing. It was cooler in the cottonwoods down by the pond. The sun was now above the horizon, but it was not yet on the water. There were clouds over the hills to the west.

I stripped 20 feet of line from my reel and laid a roll cast down along the bank just beside a submerged log. The frog hit the water and began to do it’s work. Seconds later a hit.  The smaller fish in this water attack their meals, coming out of the water as they slam into their prey. It is always a spectacular sight to behold. I lifted the rod and the hook was set. The fight that ensued was dramatic but short-lived. I landed a nice little bass. I released that fish and cast toward the submerged log once again.

A minute or two passed before I began stripping in the line. Slowly the fly moved among the light weeds and nothing happened. Another cast , again nothing. The next cast laid out closer to the shore in a patch of dense weeds. Almost immediately I hooked another nice bass. This fella fought with a little more energy and  flair, a couple of good jumps and runs from the feisty fish.  During the fight I spotted what seemed to be a larger fish just past the submerged log feeding in the shallow water about 40 feet down the shore on the edge of a dense float of lily pads.

Having successfully landed and released my second fish I moved down to the edge of the brush to shorten my casting distance to the far side of the submerged log. I flipped my frog to the lily pads. It landed on top. I left it lay until all traces of line movement stopped then lightly tugged the frog into the water. With short, quick strips of the line my frog was swimming through the lily pads. I repeated this several times with no luck. I decided to try one last time.

The hit was a slightly more than a bump followed by a firm tug. I lifted the tip of the rod to set the hook. The largest bass I had seen exploded out of the lily pads and danced briefly across the water. For just a moment I stood there slack-jawed.  This was quite possibly a five or six pound fish. Reality hit as my rod tip bent and strained under the weight of the fish. My reel came to life and I knew this monster was headed for cover. If I let him go he’d probably end up winding around some unseen debris and break off. I had to take control.

Taking control in this situation was more than a matter of simply yanking the fish around. A degree of finesse would be required to firmly steer the fish where I wanted him to go. I began to wonder about my knots, would they hold? What about my tackle? The idea of being in control began to seem silly.

My line went slack. I reeled in line as fast as I could; nothing. I continued to take in slack line and the big fish ran once again, taking all of the slack and bending the rod almost double. The hook was holding in his jaw. I knew if I didn’t play it right, it could all be over as suddenly as it began.

Worrell was awake now and watching. It took something fairly significant to get his attention, and I had it now.  I put as much pressure on the fish as I dared without busting something. From time to time the fish would dance across the surface of the water. He was enormous and beautiful. He would run deep, trying to escape, trying to hide. My rod strained at the weight of the fish.

The air was dense with humidity and the sky had grown dark. Clouds were moving in from the west. It was strange how the clear sky could go cloudy so fast. I had always felt  that fishing is better when it is overcast. This was a welcome turn of events.

Each time I would take line the fish would rip it away again. It was a tug-of-war that seemed to go on and on. I was feeling a creeping fatigue sprawling up into my shoulders. I knew the fish had to be tiring. A light drizzle began to fall. It was warm rain and uncomfortable. I became angry.  Angry at the fish, angry at the weather, and angry at myself for not using heavier gear. This could all be over if I’d had the sense to use heavy tackle.

As the battle wore on, the rain fell faster and harder. I was drenched from rain and perspiration and the fish clung to the bottom of Miller’s pond as though he were tied there. I hauled on the rod and reeled in the line. I was putting my tackle to the ultimate test. Soon, I realized I was gaining on the fish; the rain was pounding me. Worrel had moved into the shelter of some nearby trees to watch.

I could see the outline of the fish close now. I could taste victory. The fish would surrender to me. I was now his master. Just seconds from claiming my prize there was an unexpected flash and a boom. The lightning dazzled over the field across the highway. The boom was deafening and the air was electrified. The charge energized the fish. In a last effort he broke the surface and shook his massive head, throwing my fly. I watched him move away slowly into the deep water. His seemed to have an attitude of nonchalance, as though there was nothing to concern to him here. The fish had won and he knew it.

I stood in the driving rain, stunned, defeated, soaked to the skin. Worrel chuckled quietly to himself, a man who knew what I was feeling. I collected my fly and hung it in its keeper. I sat down on a stump and took out my sandwich.  As I ate the soggy, sticky sandwich, I knew there would be other days and other fish. I was unconsoled. The rod had held up and that was good. I think grandpa would have been happy. I remembered him and smiled. The rain stopped. Sweat began beading on my neck and forehead. In the distance I heard rolling thunder and I knew it was time to go. I finished my sandwich and trudged the long way home.

Fear and Loathing?

Published / by Tim / 2 Comments on Fear and Loathing?

Sometimes I just want to jump off this merry-go-round. Through a series of events I found myself plunged into a funk. The whole idea of “living in the moment” is great, but I found out that it’s very difficult as well.

So, I’m a bible reader. If you’re interested, In Matthew 14, there’s a well-known bit where Jesus has been off praying and the disciples are out in a boat. Jesus gets done and goes walking out to the boat. The boys see him. Peter says, Hey! if that’s you, tell me to meet you out there! Jesus does. Peter jumps out of the boat and goes walking to Jesus. Peter then sees that what he is doing is pretty danged amazing and it’s getting windy. Peter starts to sink. He started thinking of what MIGHT happen, and forgot what WAS happening, he was walking on water!

NoFearI kind of relate to Peter. Peter was a big, tough guy. Peter was also fearful. Peter could live in the moment, but he also could get lost in his fear and really blow it. He messed up a lot. This week, I blew it, despite having some really good moments. Yes, It’s not that uncommon for me to mess up either.

i don’t really want to go into details, other than to say I let fear boggle me and mess things up. So the lesson I learned, when you have fear, feel it, recognize it, cast it aside and do the bold thing.

The bold thing might be giving someone a kind word. It might be giving someone a hug. It might be standing up for the innocent. It might be telling someone you love them. It could be walking away from an argument. It could be any number of things. I do know, if you choose the bold option, if you choose to live in the moment without fear, there is a lot more reward and a lot less headache and heartache.

Take courage. Be bold. Live in the moment.

Living in the moment…

Published / by Tim

Sometimes… I forget. There is right now and if I don’t look around and take it in, I miss it. I never get these moments back.

Right now I am sitting in my backyard. it’s 68 degrees. There are mosquitos here and there. I am listening to a pair of Mourning doves chatting about the day. There are other small birds flitting about looking for bugs and such to tide them over through the night. My neighbor is working on his motorcycle. I have to admit, the new pipe sounds nice. Zoë is watering the shrubbery and humming a tune.

I am here just taking it all in and for the moment, at least, things are really good.IMG_7286

Lately I’ve been thinking about how many things I’ve missed in pursuit of a career and success. I am successful by most standards and yet, I sometimes feel regret that perhaps I set aside what is important to get to this place. I love my job and the school that I’ve been trusted with. But sometimes I wonder, what if?

Ultimately, the what ifs don’t matter much anymore. I can’t go back.

I can go forward, but this year there have been a lot of fellows my age just drop dead, heart stopped, dead, gone. And while I hope that isn’t my fate at this age, I am not guaranteed tomorrow. So that leaves me with today. Right now. Live in the moment, because that’s really all I have.

Planning is necessary, absolutely. I just can’t put my eggs all in that basket.

I’m going to challenge myself and you who are reading to spend time this week living in the moment. Looking around at what is happening NOW and see if it gives you any insight. I think it might.  Carry a journal or notebook with you this week and take some time each day to write about a moment in which you are fully engaged. I’d love to hear about it.

Getting a grip…

Published / by Tim / 3 Comments on Getting a grip…

This is a continuation of my last post, if you didn’t read the first post, you can go HERE to do so…

FullSize

TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX point SIX POUNDS ???

Yeah! Holy crap! Right?

And so there I am, about to cry, craving a coke to make it all feel better and realizing I am in a sort of pickle. Gaining weight took NO effort. I ate. I sat around. I grew. I knew, however, based on everything I’d seen, heard, read and done… losing weight takes effort and lots of it. HOW DID MY LIFE COME TO THIS?

I always have this feeling that people are reading this and thinking, “This guy is such a pig. How does a human being do that?” or “Poor fat slob… deserves everything he gets.” or “256.6? EEEEwwww!!!” I have that feeling, because it’s what I thought. My perception was that I was this fat, flabby, piglike pile of lipids and goo with no friends and no life and no one liked me…. WHAAAAA!!!! I pouted.

Pouting didn’t help. A week went by and the scale didn’t budge an inch. I recall a Friday rolling around and it was clear, warm, pleasant. I’d been messing around with riding the bike, but I had never really gone very far, very fast or with any real purpose. I threw a leg over and took off. I rode 5.7 miles. The next day I did it again. Sunday I did it again and then I realized that when you don’t ride consistently, there are anatomical structures that need time to adjust to the curious demands of bicycling. I took a day off, but really missed being on the bike. So it became something I looked forward to.

I didn’t lose any weight though. I felt stronger. I could breathe easier but the weight just stayed. Exercise is frustrating when you don’t see any change. I did start to listen to people who were saying, “Have you lost weight?” I wasn’t but people thought I was. Weird. Then I realized I felt stronger… and it occurred to me that perhaps muscle was replacing fat… which isn’t a bad thing.

I kept riding and stopped watching the scale. One week. Two weeks. Then, one morning, I was standing there waiting for the shower to warm up and saw the scale. I stepped on. It flashed and flashed and then said…. 250.8. It was a good morning.

I have ridden, gotten lazy, lifted weights, gotten lazy, taken long breaks, ridden some more and I’m losing weight slowly but surely. So there are some things I’ve learned.

Weight is one of those things that can be all-consuming and it shouldn’t be. I have the most success when I am riding regularly and not stressing about how I look or what the scale says. It really boils down to being sensible.

I’ve learned that consistency is a key. Consistently riding (or just being active), eating and resting make the most difference over time.

Ultimately the greatest things I have learned is that if I can set my mind to something I can accomplish the thing i set my mind to. Where there is a will, there is a way. And I have really great friends who love and respect who I am no matter what I look like. That’s pretty important as the story continues to unfold. More on that another time.