Going on

Thanks to Harps on SL, a chance to read some Tennyson.

And draw them all along, and flow,
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

Which conjures images from the Hudson River school. Such as this one

Trout Fisherman, oil on canvas, John Frederick Kensett (1852).

Trout Fisherman, oil on canvas, John Frederick Kensett (1852).

The philosopher

[Traduction française à la fin]

Georgie, a.k.a. B. Hinde, a.k.a. Captain Stoke, a.k.a. A Butt, a.k.a. ye ole git.

Georgie, a.k.a. B. Hinde, a.k.a Simplex Munidishes, a.k.a. Captain Stoke, a.k.a. A Butt, a.k.a. ye ole git.

I’m a philosopher. I mean, that’s what I do. I would have said that’s my job if it weren’t for the very obvious answer I’d get from every aspiring comedian in the world…
— Do you call that a job?
Well, I do. There are those, we’re not short of them by any means, who won’t get the point, and will spare no effort in making it clear. It does get a little tiring at times. So it’s always a nice surprise when you discover a guenuine philosophical effort somewhere you weren’t expecting one at all.

I knew Skues was quite the smart guy, he’s got a splendid reputation, but the following passage fell well beyond expectations. We’re page 10 of The way of a Trout with a Fly. Skues is about to begin the discussion of one of the core topics of the whole book: understanding trout vision.

A preliminary cast

In a well-known Greek myth, Semele, one of Jove’s many mistresses, is presented as having persuaded her lover to reveal himself to her in his Olympian majesty, and as having been burned to a cinder in the conflagration; — the moral of this being that man is not intended to see things as they are, but only in such form and to such extent as is good for him. This is, I believe, in full accord with the views of modern science, which holds that man sees nothing absolutely as it is, but only relatively and as is necessary for the purposes of his being. Even so his perception of things seen is not the sole result of the image on the retina, but is a subjective effect produced upon the mind by the combination of the image and the results of experience gained through the sense of touch and possibly other senses connecting and co-ordinating the image thrown upon the retina. A baby, it is supposed, sees everything flat at first. He has to feel his way through his sense of touch to a sense of distance and perspective. Man’s eye therefore is not in the absolute sense a perfect organ, but only relatively perfect for the purposes of the needs and nature of man.
I do not think that, if this proposition be true of man, it can be any less true of fish, and, in considering the way of a trout with a fly, whether natural or artificial, it may be worth while to spend a little time in an endeavour to see what can be deduced from known facts about the nature and characteristics of the eyesight of the trout.
The nature and the needs of trout differ greatly from those of man, and it need not therefore surprise us if examination should lead us to the conclusion that his perception by eyesight differs materially from that of man. Indeed, I think it would be remarkable if, living in a different medium that is subject to certain optical laws from which the air is free, and having different needs and modes of being from man, the trout were to see things in all respects as man sees them — even after making all allowance for the correcting and co-ordinating effects of tactile experience.

In his foreword for The Essential G.E.M. Skues, Goddard wrote:

I still look on Skues with considerable awe as, with out doubt, the greatest thinking fly fisher ever to put pen to paper.

Well, I think he may very well be right.  Just for illustrative purposes, here’s a relatively faithful rendition of the tying described in the plates of Skues’s book. Thanks to Les amis moucheurs.

First method, p. 124:

Second method, p. 128:

To cover the awkward silence of the videos, here’s something nymphy and good: Végh Quartet, in Beethoven’s 7th. I think Skues had it in mind when he fished the Itchen.



In an effort to share Skues’ extraodinary wits, I will now translate the passage in French.

Un lancer préliminaire
Un mythe grec bien connu présente Semele, une des nombreuses maîtresses de Jupiter, ayant persuadé son amant de se montrer à elle dans sa splendeur Olympienne, et réduite en cendres dans l’incendie ; la morale de l’histoire étant que l’homme n’est pas fait pour voir les choses telles qu’elles sont, mais seulement sous la forme et dans la mesure qui sont bonnes pour lui. Cela est, je crois, en plein accord avec les vues de la science moderne, qui tient que l’homme ne voit jamais les choses telles qu’elles sont dans l’absolu, mais seulement de manière relative et pour autant que c’est nécessaire aux fins de son être. Même ainsi, sa perception des choses vues n’est pas le résultat de la seule image sur la rétine, mais elle est un effet subjectif produit dans l’esprit par la combinaison de l’image et des résultats de l’expérience acquise par le sens du toucher et possiblement des autres sens connectant et coordonnant l’image projetée sur la rétine. Un bébé, suppose-t-on, voit tout à plat au début. Il doit sentir son chemin par le toucher vers le sens de la distance et de la perspective. L’œil de l’homme, en conséquence, n’est pas au sens absolu un organe parfait, mais il est seulement parfait relativement aux fins des besoins et de la nature de l’homme.

Je ne pense pas que, si cette thèse est vraie de l’homme, elle puisse être moins vraie des poissons, et, dans nos considérations concernant la truite à la mouche, qu’elle soit naturelle ou artificielle, il peut être utile de consacrer un peu de temps dans le but de voir ce qu’on peut déduire des faits connus à propos de la nature et des caractéristiques de la vision des truites.

La nature et les besoins des truites diffèrent grandement de ceux des hommes, et cela ne devrait donc pas nous surprendre si l’examen nous menait à la conclusion que sa perception visuelle diffère considérablement de celle de l’homme. En effet, je pense qu’il serait remarquable que, vivant dans un milieu différent soumis à des lois optiques qui ne s’appliquent pas à l’air, et ayant des besoins et des manières d’être différentes de ceux des hommes, les truites voient les choses à tous égards comme un homme les voit — même après avoir pris en compte les effets correcteurs et coordonnants de l’expérience tactile.

Sharp stop

The imitation may be Impressionist, Cubist, Futurist, Post-Impressionist, Pre-Raphaelite, or caricature. The commonest is caricature. It therefore catches most fish.

GEM Skues, The Way of a Trout with a Fly, p. 78.

Immortal words of enlightened wisdom, kindly reminded to us by Alex Vulev on SL.

“Sharp stop on the backcast”. Pablo Picasso (1924). Collage, 92×65.


Pete on Sexyloops posted today a page from Pratchett’s Reaper Man, that’s waaaaaay too good not to share it with you. Here is goes, thanks Pete!

The sun was near the horizon.
The shortest-lived creatures on the Disc were mayflies, which barely make it through twenty-four hours. Two of the oldest zigzagged aimlessly over the waters of a trout stream, discussing history with some younger members of the evening hatch.
“You don’t get the kind of sun now that you used to get,” said one of them.
“You’re right there. We had proper sun in the good old hours. It were all yellow. None of this red stuff.”
“It were higher, too,”
“It was. You’re right.”
“And nymphs and larvae showed you a bit of respect.”
“They did. They did,” said the other mayfly vehemently.
“I reckon, if mayflies these hours behaved a bit better, we‘d still be having proper sun.”
The younger mayflies listened politely.
“I remember,” said one of the oldest mayflies, “when all this was fields, as far as you could see.”
The younger mayflies looked around.
“It’s still fields,” one of them ventured, after a polite interval,
“I remember when it was better fields,” said the old mayfly sharply.
“Yeah,” said his colleague. “And there was a cow.”
“’That’s right! You’re right! I remember that cow! Stood right over there for, oh, forty, fifty minutes. It was brown, as I recall.”
“You don’t get cows like that these hours.”
“You don’t get cows at all.”
“What’s a cow?” said one of the hatchlings.
“See‘?” said the oldest mayfly triumphantly. “That’s modern Ephemeroptera for you.” It paused. “What were we doing before we were talking about the sun‘?”
“Zigzagging aimlessly over the water,” said one of the young flies. This was a fair bet in any case.
“No, before that.”
“Er ….you were telling us about the Great Trout.”
“Ah. yes, Right. The Trout. Well, you see, if you’ve been a good mayfly, zigzagging up and down properly – ”
“ – taking heed of your elders and betters – “
“ – yes, and taking heed of your elders and betters, then eventually the Great Trout – ”
“Yes?” said one of the younger mayflies.
There was no reply.
“The Great Trout what?” said another mayfly, nervously,
They looked down at a series of expanding concentric rings on the water.
“The holy sign!” said a mayfly. “I remember being told about that! A Great Circle in the water! Thus shall be the sign of the Great Trout!”
The oldest of the young mayflies watched the water thoughtfully. It was beginning to realise that, as the most senior fly present, it now had the privilege of hovering closest to the surface.
“They say,” said the mayfly at the top of the zigzagging crowd, “that when the Great Trout comes for you, you go to a land flowing with…., Flowing with…..” Mayflies don’t eat. It was at a loss.
“Flowing with water,” it finished lamely.
“I wonder,” said the oldest mayfly.
“It must be really good there,” said the youngest,
“Oh‘? Why?”
“’Cos no one ever wants to come back.

Like the knowledge that you’re going to die

Field&Stream features here one of the best short text on fly fishing I’ve read online in a while. It’s from Bill Heavey, and it’s good.

Flyfishing is like the knowledge that you’re going to die. No matter how good the party gets, it’s always there in the background to remind you what awaits: tangled line, wind knots, snagged vegetation, broken leaders, and the very real possibility that by the time you do make a decent cast, your own eyeball will be attached to the hook. I have been flyfishing on and off for 35 years, during which period I have progressed from beginner to advanced beginner. With continued practice, I fully expect to be an intermediate just three or four years following my death.

And the converse is, as it sometimes happens in life, no less true. The words of John Buchan** ring all over the internet, to the effect that the charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope. No quote gets viral like that without having at least the ring of truth to it. The astute reader will have noticed that this may not directly apply to fly fishing, but I think it does. It obviously does: for instance each time I throw a loop, I hope it won’t tail.

** Despite quite an intense search over the whole internet, I did not find the book where Buchan wrote this. If, by any chance, you know which book it is, please leave a message. The darn (Right Honourable) Scot wrote lots of books.


[…] and we covered the last two hundred yards to the truck marveling, for the hundredth time, at the god-awful beauty of sunfish. They’re one of the things in the world that are so much prettier than they’d have to be, you have to think it means something.

J. Gierach, At the grave of the Unknown Fisherman (2003).

Let’s fish

A couple of very good lines for my French friends today. Sorry, I won’t try to translate them. Suffice it to say they are about the age-old wondering, silently and continuously operating in the mind of any fisherman worth his salt: why the hell am I doing this? And the only possible answer, never quite enough of an answer, but that’s all we have: fuck it, let’s fish.

S’ils me voyaient sur ce caillou, enrobé de coton huilé kaki, nez coulant, bonnet au ras des yeux. Pire, s’ils savaient l’énergie, le temps que je peux consacrer à la pêche, s’ils se doutaient de son importance, de son urgence parfois dans ma vie – à cette heure tout Proust, tiens, les cinq volumes de la Pléiade donnés sans la moindre hésitation pour ce « lancer léger » de bambou refendu si bien équilibré…

[I pass on yet another vain charge against psychoanalysis]

Et d’abord cette hantise de l’eau, que révèlet-elle ? Cette fascination du poisson caché, ce désir, ce plaisir de le prendre, de le tenir, de le tuer ou alors de lui laisser la vie sauve avec une émotion encore plus intense… Sadique obsessionnel compulsif fétichiste à orientation masturbato-mystique, par exemple ?

Mais ce n’est pas drôle. Sérieusement, qu’est-ce que je cherche, qu’est-ce que je fuis là-dedans ?

— Fous-toi de ça, grand.
Rire bref, tout proche.
— C’est le virus, qu’est-ce que tu veux, quand on l’a dans le sang, on le garde !

Jean-Etienne Bovard, La pêche à rôder, 2006.

Let’s fish.

There was a time

…when literature at its best flirted with fishing.

Old sports

Notice how Dos Passos looks so happy you’d think he’s stupid. Ernie says: “That’s right, my hat kicks asses big time. But you have to be me to get away with so much awesomeness. Your fish is not that bad Johnny.”

Johnny says:”Cheeeeese.”

There’s more to Gordon

than just gin. The hairy dude from Fish in a Barrel Pond went through a silent phase that made me wonder if something had happened to him.

Well, something did happen. It’s all written here. And it’s a truly fine piece of writing, If you haven’t read it, you’re lucky, click away in a hurry, there are very few better ways to use the next ten minutes of your life.

Sarcoptes scabiei