A bank fishing interlude
A short (11 min) video, in which I share an afternoon’s fly fishing on a local lake.
Pewter and Charcoal: Colour
The final post in a series exploring black and white images of the flyfisher’s world. This one takes us back to an appreciation of colour
Pewter and Charcoal: Solitude, Middleton and Gierach
exploring the writing of Harry Middleton and John Gierach, together with a B & W image taken on the uMngeni River
Pewter and Charcoal: a little Brown and Catlow
The boyhood joy of small Brown Trout, the writing of Laurence Catlow, and the rich texture of black and white imagery
Pewter and Charcoal: Gierach and conservation perfection
Exploring the writing of John Gierach, and a flyfishers obsession with stream restoration
Pewter and Charcoal: La Branche and my hausberg
Exploring the writing of George La Branche and the concept of a flyfisher’s hausberg
Pewter and Charcoal, Lyons and a lone angler
“Several times she has fallen asleep during my diatribes and I know perhaps the largest truth of this business of angling: it is private, and teaches privateness and the quiet satisfaction of something sweet and full inside” Wrote Nick Lyons in Seasonable Angler. Lyons wrote a column by that same name in the magazine “Flyfisherman” for 22 years . Back when our currency had some value, I used to subscribe to it, and always read that column first. I have enjoyed his writing ever since. I think this image captures the essence of privateness, quiet satisfaction et al:
Pewter and Charcoal, Walden and Furth
Pewter and charcoal….a series of sorts, that aims to couple the timelessness of a black and white image, with the timelessness of quotes from our fly fishing literature. To kick it off, here is the uMngeni on Furth farm: …and here is something from Walden…that unsung American writer, from his book ‘Upstream and down’, published in 1938: “Streams with reputations do not always live up to them and the obscurer brooks often hold a big trout or two. ……/../… Fishermen rather than fish perpetuate and enhance the reputation of a stream. By story and legend, the magic euphony of a
The black mist
On the eve of our planned trip, I happened to be up on the river. Call it a bit of a “forward patrol”. It was late afternoon, and I was peering into what looked like slightly brown water, squinting against the harsh afternoon rays of the sun, that were beaming in from the west to burn my corneas. “I think it could be clear by tomorrow” I reported to The Viking, factoring in the that there were 14 hours between us and our planned trip, as well as the fact that we would be about 3kms upstream. I was not