adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_17adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_18adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_19It’s time to get while the gettin’s good. And the gettin’ is good in these parts. At this point the transition to summertime troutin’ tendencies is complete. I’m glad to see that I’m not the only one who’s full of hot air. Today’s little heat wave is a far cry from the morning chills I experienced recently. The daytime highs have been moderate, but I opted to give it a go on one of the coldest morning’s in recent memory. One should never underestimate Mother Nature, but I’m prone to rash decisions. I found myself shivering in the icy cold waters of spring creek delirium, with only a thin layer of breathable fabric to reduce the shrinkage. Not to be dissuaded, I plodded forward in typical binge and purge fashion, ignoring the fact that my teeth were chattering like an age old teletype machine. Let’s not let little things like hypothermia get in the way of our quest for numerological know-how.



adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_27adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_16Despite that fact that we’re knee deep in our orgy of dry fly antics, my mind has prematurely wondered towards the giant bugs of terrestrial season. I’ve probably been spending more time tying than casting, and that’s a problem in itself. I’ve secretly been pulling out the vise and constructing new monstrosities meant to test my meddle. Some may see air time, others will be sent to the dust bin of bad ideas. Putting your own spin on a known quantity is half the fun of it anyway. The results portion of the equation have yet to be written.



adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_04adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_09adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_brook_trout_31Since we’re talkin’ tactics, I figured I’d follwup on the Brookie bonanza from earlier posts. The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray, but the latest batch of flies and strategies have been paying dividends in the form of a smattering of quality fish. The curiously unnamed pink fly has done some serious damage. Perhaps we shall call her a “double-bubble” #10 Bubblicious? Somewhere between my Strawberry Twizzlers fly and a Pink Squirrel lies this double tungsten bomb-beaded blasphemy. No need to get your panties in a twist over the material choices folks, she’s all artificial. A light round of R&D tells me that if you want to increase the durability, but sacrifice some action you can substitute the current tail with chenille, but it’s all cheatin’ in the minds of some I suppose. Perhaps thoraxes, dubbed bodies and legs comprised of space age components are okay, but not plastisol tails? I don’t really follow any prescribed conventions when it comes to fly tying, so everything is fair game in my pea-sized brain. I’ll leave the unspoken rules of proper fly roddin’ to those in the know. I’m just full of contradictions, but the truth remains that good ol’ Bubblicious has worked as good, if not better than I’d hoped. I’ve been delinquent in furnishing you with any angling action lately, so I’ll just offer up this murderer’s row of finned foes and then we can proceed to go about our business.



adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_24cadrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_08adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_21adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_03adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_20adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_02adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_22adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_14adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_26 adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_01adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_driftless_trout_25Why are we so entrapped by a game of numbers? The true measure of a man can’t be found in a simple spreadsheet or at the long end of a ruler. If I wanted to keep score, I’d be swinging the sticks on the golf course. It’s not that I’m immune to amassing quantities of quality fish. I like big fish and a good bite as much as the next guy. How many fish did I catch on this morning? It was somewhere exactly between “a lot” and “many”, but I can’t be 100% sure. Heck, I have a favorite corner bend that I throw Sulphers on ’til the cows come home, but truthfully I’m simply out to put one in the mental win column. Sometimes the simple arithmetic of religiously counting fish, or measuring every catch to within a micron can be almost too much for me to bear. Is more really more? Going fishing and not fervently keeping score is addition by subtraction in my estimation. I never liked math class, and I’m not about to start now. It’s all about the experience by matching wits with something that is wholly uncontrollable. Not to mention the silence, ahh the simple beauty of utter silence. So get out there and get while the gettin’s good (the numbers are there for the taking). There’s no question that I’m often guilty of using some “funny logic,” but in this case it’s simply that I find the math to be the funniest part of this whole equation.