Ball of Dung ride report

Discussion in 'Ride Reports - Day Trippin'' started by HamboneSlim, Sep 1, 2011.

  1. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
    May 8, 2008
    Oddometer:
    4,587
    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
    OK, I'm back, and now the whole sorry story can be told.

    Adventure bike: 1970 Honda SL350 with a racing engine. Buff Harsh at Todd Henning Racing did all the heavy lifting, I did the rest: head ported, cylinders bored to 362cc, high compression pistons, back-cut valves, megacycle TT grind cam, 34mm Mikuni VM's with K&N filters, 1-1/2" exhaust with Supertrapp resonators. Hi-flow petcock, electronic ignition, electronic rectifier/regulator module, Dyna coils, teflon cam chain slipper, yada yada. Stock CB350 gearing is 16/36, CL350 is 16/38, SL350 is 16/40 early models, 16/42 later models. This bike is geared 15/36, so it's between a stock CL & Stock early SL.

    Added some mild steel brackets to keep the saddlebags out of the spokes:

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    Saddlebags are repurposed doggie packs.

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    Perfect fit!

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    These and a duffle on the back should be enough for all my gear.

    The gear:

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    6' 8" 4wt. 3-piece w/ extra tip, flies, disreputable hat. Streams are likely swollen with hurricane run-off, but I'm not willing to take the chance of not having tackle.

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    Cookin stuff; water, gas, stove, dish, cup, utensils.

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    Utensils are fancy engraved, the fork has F.S. indicating "For Steak", spoon is engraved F.S. "For Soup" and the knife, cause this is Pennsylvania.

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    Sleepin stuff.


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    A bag of toiletries, TP, book, spare flashlights, first aid kit and snakebite kit. If I fall off the bike, bounce down the side of a mountain, and land in a den of rattlesnakes, I should be pretty well covered.

    Also packed clothes and food.

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    That's a close-up of the screen of my GPS. It's one of those real fancy ones, with lotsa buttons to press.

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    Loaded up and ready for an Adventure!

    But wait - there's one thing I've overlooked. With all this soft luggage, there's no way to lock up all my valuables.

    The most elegant solutions are usually the most simple

    Gotta be something laying around here that will work......

    - got it! :clap


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    Well, I don't think anyone could get much more simple than this. Gear: protected. Added bonus: no more tailgaters!:evil

    Ready to ride!!

    Next: Trouble in Paradise.
    #1
  2. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
    May 8, 2008
    Oddometer:
    4,587
    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
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    On the old concrete bridge over Cooks Creek. Creek is really high after the storm. Bridge was built in 1913, same year Henry Ford got the assembly line worked out for the Model T. Bridge was doomed to obsolesence from the start.


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    Cement factory.


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    Delaware River is really high & mighty today.


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    Delaware Water Gap, Mt. Tammany on New Jersey side.


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    Mt. Minsi on Pennsylvania side.


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    In town of Delaware Water Gap, this Church serves Appalachian Trail Hikers. AT end-to-enders report that Pennsylvania is by far the rockiest hike on the trail that stretches from Georgia to Maine. That's yet another quality where Pennsylvania has those other states beat.:thumb


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    ...and this one appears to be a private residence. Nice windows for a house, ennit?

    North of Stroudsburg, bike started running bad. Won't run at all with the headlight on, with the headlight off it's running poorly. Not getting enough juice? A short to ground? Bad harness? Stator fried? Only one thing to do...



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    Find a shady spot in a park and start wrenching. Found one loose power connection in the headlight bucket. That wasn't it. Ate some cheeseybread. Found something hot maybe touching a ground. Nope. Had some raisins. Checked the stator connections, and there it was. Cold factory solder joint on a connector pin broke loose, wire came off. That'll do it. Got out the leatherman tool and fixt it good.
    :clap Works, let the adventure resume!

    Next: A shrine is disappears.
    #2
  3. BeezaBoy

    BeezaBoy Been here awhile

    Joined:
    Mar 28, 2008
    Oddometer:
    128
    Location:
    BanffYFF
    cool.
    lookin forward to the rest...
    #3
  4. jackpiner57

    jackpiner57 Moto-Racks.com

    Joined:
    Aug 6, 2005
    Oddometer:
    1,748
    Location:
    Northeastern Vermont
    Hahaha, I'm enjoying this one.:clap
    #4
  5. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
    May 8, 2008
    Oddometer:
    4,587
    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
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    The site where the fabled Henryville House once stood along the Brodhead. The nations first, and once foremost, flyfishing hotel was built in 1835, and hosted the greatest sportsmen and women of the day. Joseph Jefferson thought of Rip Van Winkle while fishing here. Grover Cleveland was his fishing buddy. John Taintor Foote would pass the summers here writing and fishing. He wrote "The Wedding Gift", a novella about a couple on a flyfishing vacation, some years after his own flyfishing wedding spent at Henryville House. Teddy Roosevelt and Gifford Pinchott were fondly remembered for their skill with a flyrod while here, while Calvin Coolidge was not, for having to resort to earthworms. Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill came to fish, and entertained their fellow guests with feats of marksmanship on the front lawn. George La Branche, author of one of my favorite books "The Dry Fly inFast Water" developed his theories here. I can go on and on, but alas, Henryville House cannot.
    Now, parts of the Brodhead has been channelized for flood control. Part of it runs between a highway and a golf course. Part of it flows past a miniature ski slope attraction. An otherwise promising section through a gorge and in a park, has a sewage treatment plant discharging warm foul-smelling water into it. Other sections are stocked and privately owned by flyfishing clubs who feel they are somehow carring on the noble tradition.
    :cry

    But trust me, I know what I'm doing. We're heading for a remote feeder stream. You'll forgive me if I don't name the stream. Lets move on.


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    As if there were any other way.:deal


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    Interesting little chapel with unusual detailing with the windows and butresses. Stained glass looks like a new addition.


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    Friendly folks at the filling station. Gassed and ready to continue!


    Next: Pretzel Logic.
    #5
  6. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
    May 8, 2008
    Oddometer:
    4,587
    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
    Thanks, guys! Glad you're enjoying the ride.


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    Pretzel delivery truck at the Pretzel Factory! Pennsylvania is the top pretzel producer in the US of A.


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    Sign on truck says "Be gentle with me, I'm old" Ha ha, that's what she said!


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    Pretzel assembly area behind the glass. The kid is happy cause he just made a pretzel out of blue play-dough. I told him it was OK to eat it, then his mom yelled at me and made me cry.


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    Pretzel crumbles are excellent pack food - they're already broken! I chose the honey mustard onion pretzel crumbles.


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    Lots of soft pretzel varieties, too. This is only half the display case. I got a regular salty soft pretzel.


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    They even have a GS training bike!

    Things are a little twisted here, time to roll!


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    Cresco Train Station.


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    Cool Methodist Church. Looks very stern. I notice across the street...

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    This nice barn - can you see what caught my eye?? Let me zoom in on it....

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    Timberdoodle weathervane! :clap Awesome!


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    A nice looking store.


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    The Adoration of the Red Honda.


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    Arf.

    Enough fooling around.
    Next: Into the Woods
    #6
  7. Mullet

    Mullet Adventurer

    Joined:
    Jan 28, 2010
    Oddometer:
    77
    Location:
    South Louisiana
    Good job, you have me laughing this morning. Keep it up.
    #7
  8. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
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    Oddometer:
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    Location:
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    Thanks! Rest of the report is coming up!
    #8
  9. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
    May 8, 2008
    Oddometer:
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    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
    Enough of traffic: USGS quads show every dirt track in the state. Time to take advantage of the hours the USGS put in.


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    If you didn't know where it was, you'd never see the entrance to this road from the state highway.


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    Forest road with a view.


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    Nice little forest stream. These little streams run cold and usually hold wild little brook trout. They are fun to fish because they are challenging, but fish in these little streams are sized appropriate to the stream, unless you find a deep wide pool, where monsters lurk in the chilly depths.


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    Found a nice campsite; flat and smooth ground, a table, even a firepit with firewood! A bit fancy-schmancy metro-sexual for my taste, besides, some Girl Scouts, or Beemerweenies, might come along who will feel safe and comfy at this improved campsite.

    I enjoy some honey mustard onion pretzel crumbles and decide to ride off in search of some Wildlife Photography instead.

    Next: Savage denizens of the forest.
    #9
  10. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
    May 8, 2008
    Oddometer:
    4,587
    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
    First forest creature I find is this fierce beast:

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    Oh sure, he's yellow and fuzzy now, but don't be fooled; he'll grow up to be a Dagger Moth! :deal

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    American Millipede. I know what you're thinking, "It's so cute I just want to pick it up and hold it!" But better not try it! This fearsome predator can release a liquid that will leave a stain! Yikes! :eek1


    Ewww - dude - look what you stepped in!

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    And you thought your job sucks!

    Dung beetles are found on every continent except Antartica. The reason their unique ecological niche was available is really quite simple: none of the other bugs wanted the job.

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    Dung Beetles are pretty big for their size, and they push backwards so they aren't watching where they're going. The ones I feel for are the smaller insects like ants and springtails that are gonna get run over by this thing.


    One can imagine some poor ant returning to her nest:

    "Yo, girl, you smell like crap! What the hell happened to you?"

    "You're not gonna believe this, but there I was skittering around the forest floor, foraging like I always do, when all of a sudden from out of nowhere this giant ball of poop came and rolled right over me!"

    "Oh I believe it; same thing happened to my sister once."


    Next: A nice place to camp.
    #10
  11. ride4321

    ride4321 Long timer

    Joined:
    Dec 21, 2009
    Oddometer:
    2,953
    Location:
    Binghamton, NY
    Excellent!:clap

    More please. I'm just getting to know that area.
    #11
  12. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
    May 8, 2008
    Oddometer:
    4,587
    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
    Thanks!

    Enjoy the area, there are wonderful roads to ride and treasures around every bend!
    #12
  13. ride4321

    ride4321 Long timer

    Joined:
    Dec 21, 2009
    Oddometer:
    2,953
    Location:
    Binghamton, NY
    I am enjoying it. Every road I find seems better than the last. Planning on moving down that way next spring. Can't wait to get the DR down there next weekend and try out some of the seasonal roads I passed by in the Delaware State Forest last weekend.
    You're story telling is ... :rofl
    #13
  14. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
    May 8, 2008
    Oddometer:
    4,587
    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
    Found a nice spot to camp:

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    Roads getting a little rocky at this point, but best of all, I only fell off the bike twice while getting here!

    :ricky :muutt :ricky :clap :poser

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    Water's pretty high, and a lot of blow downs, but we'll try some fishing in the morning.

    Then something odd occurs - I hear a weird whining steady engine noise. WTF could this be??

    Then I see it high above the trees:

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    ????? Let's zoom in and get a better look:

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    Now I'm mad because the zoom is maxed out, and I still can't see the motor. Sounds like some kind of lawn mower or boxer engine.


    By now it's getting late, so I set up camp:

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    The stream whispers past my feet while the tree crickets drone a drowsy song, and I'm grateful to be afforded such luxury as I drift into soft and easy sleep.


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    Up with the first light of dawn, and the little Svea stove quickly provides a cup of cowboy coffee and some oatmeal with turbinado sugar. The Svea has never let me down. I bought it with paper route money when I was a lad & was in the CAP, and we did a lot of winter camping & search and rescue operations. It's 40 years old now, and works just as well as when I first bought it. :thumb


    Next: Why I can't catch a fish
    #14
  15. AustinJake

    AustinJake DR650 - Versys

    Joined:
    Aug 20, 2010
    Oddometer:
    4,425
    Location:
    Austin, TX
    Best RR I've seen in a long time, great bike, great pics, great writing, thanks for sharing this, Ham.
    #15
  16. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
    May 8, 2008
    Oddometer:
    4,587
    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
    Thanks a lot, glad you're enjoying the report!
    #16
  17. allonsye

    allonsye ("lets go!")

    Joined:
    Jul 9, 2006
    Oddometer:
    904
    Location:
    Harrisonburg, VA
    :*sip* The adventures of an individual who's refused to embrace the hedonic treadmill. There's minimalistic simplicity here and an excellent eye for the stupendous beauty most are unable to see occupying every present moment. Excellent!
    #17
  18. BeezaBoy

    BeezaBoy Been here awhile

    Joined:
    Mar 28, 2008
    Oddometer:
    128
    Location:
    BanffYFF
    You've got me in stitches :rofl

    Great writing, great photos, great fun!
    #18
  19. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
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    Oddometer:
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    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
    Thank you for the lovely comments!
    #19
  20. HamboneSlim

    HamboneSlim ಠ_ಠ

    Joined:
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    Oddometer:
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    Location:
    in the timbers of Fennario
    Small brushy streams can be challenging to fish in the best of conditions, and the recent storm has left conditions far from ideal. But that's no excuse to not catch a fish; I'm a Fisherman, and I can come up with far better excuses than that!

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    Moving along the stream edge and casting to an undercut bank, I get a strike! Feels like a nice one, and the fish quickly spits out the fly. Beneath an overhanging branch, another strike, in a deep pocket, another!

    I know, you're thinking, "What? Something's foul with this fly! Three strikes and no fish? Get Outta Heeeaaaah!!"

    It's like this my friends. It's said that the career of a dedicated fisherman goes through 4 stages.
     
    Stage I: He wants to catch as many fish as possible. I graduated from this level by catching a dozen fish with one cast.
    No, seriously, I’m tellin’ ya - a dozen with one cast - would a Fisherman stretch the truth?
    It was at Ressica Falls, a beautiful and well stocked stretch of the Buskill owned by the Boy Scouts. My good fishin’ dog Rusty and I arrived midday, and I parked my old pickup amongst the Mercedes and Lexus and BMWs. Seemed liked there were a lot of nice cars in the lot. Grabbed my gear, and we walked down the path along the creek. I was surprised as we came to the first pool of the stream to find a dozen Sports all in that one pool. These fellows must have had tens of thousands of dollars worth of the finest tackle, clothing, and acoutrements amongst them, looking like an outing of fine fishing catalog models. They were all fishing at the head of the pool, right on top of one another. They gave a casual glance at me with my crumpled and dirty felt hat, pack rod with visible repairs, waders just an old pair of workboots with carpet scraps carefully cut and glued to the soles, scruffy dog by my side. We were quickly dismissed with a few smirks and rolls of the eyes. There are miles of excellent and beautiful water here, all filled with lively fat fish; it made no senseat all for all these fellows to be fishing the exact same spot, crossing one another’s lines, raising each other’s ire - and nobody catching anything anyway. Naturally, I walked into the pool. Rusty followed, waded to the geographic center of the pool, and gave a mighty shake and spray, that was his style. I always loved when Rusty did this; it was such an expression of his joy. The Sports got wet. They were not feeling Rusty’s joy. Heaven forbid a man standing in a stream should get wet! The Sports seemed not to be having much luck fishing the head of the pool, so I turned towards the tail of the pool, tied the biggest flashiest streamer fly I had onto my tippet - a Spruce Creek - and cast it to the side of the pool, beneath some overhanging hemlock branches, let it float and drift to the tail of the pool, and as it became wet and started to sink, I ripped it along the edge of the pool as if it were some desperate little creature trying it’s tiny best not to go over the edge into the swift water. Whack! A big rainbow took advantage and hit it hard! Rainbows are natural jumpers, and I encouraged this fellow jump as much as he liked, his sides flashing pink and orange and silver in the bright noonday sun, while I provided a running comentary for Rusty concerning what a fine specimen this particular fish was. Twice I let the fish run just past the legs of the Sports, certain that they also would enjoy a view of such a fine fish. Finally, after much fanfare, I brought the fish to hand, displayed it to Rusty who gave it a big kiss, then gently let the fish back into the water, where it quickly swam away. Hooking the fly into the handle of the fly rod, I turned to Rusty and exclaimed, "Let’s go upstream, Rusty. They’re too easy to catch here."
    And that’s how I caught a dozen fish with one cast!
     
    Stage II: The consuming desire to catch the biggest fish ever. Tarpon, great whites, night-feeding deep pool browns, it's all the same mania. For me it was Muskelounge. I finally hooked one on a December day, on a ho-made plug , in the Delaware River. As I reeled it ever closer to shore those pointy fish teeth just kept getting bigger and bigger, and that evil lemon fish eye was looking nastier and nastier. As I hauled the mighty aquatic beast to the river bank, and was begining to wonder just what the heck I was gonna do now, my trusty angling dog companion at the time, Zig, jumped into the water and on top the big fish, and in the ensuing fray the Musky managed to shake off the lure, to my great relief, and fish and dog returned to their respective elements unharmed and ready to fight another day. What the hell did I think I was gonna do with that big fish??
     
    Stage III: The attempt to catch the most unusual or exotic fish - artic grayling, paddlefish, coelacanth, whatever. For me it was mudpuppies. This stage is designed to make the Fisherman appear a complete fool, even more so than the previous stages. He will either reform and take up golf, or he will accept his status as Laughing Stock of Polite Society, tilt his disreputable hat at a jaunty angle, and proceed to the next level.
     
    Stage IV: Catching the most difficult fish. For some this will be in the form of long delicate casts to wary bonefish on the flats, for me it was pursuing native brook trout in brushy, near-inaccessable little mountain streams. Here is where the final polish of the angler's craft takes place. He must become one with the environment, every breeze, every branch, every ripple in the water; the placement of the rocks, the hides that other anlgers would miss, revealed only by a slight change in the movement of the water; stalking the fish in his element, undetected; threading the line through branches and brush, to have it land just so and at just the right spot, with just enough slack for a natural drift past a waiting trout. At this stage our fisherman is at one with nature, not a casual visitor to nature, or observor of some abstract concept of nature, but as much a part of her as is the leaf floating on the surface. For a while now, he has been mashing down the barbs of his hooks, so the fish can shake off easier, and so a fish brought to hand can be more quickly released. Having mastered this stage, he is now written off by his loved ones as a liar and a fool. He has become a True Fisherman.
    Me, I just want to fish, and I don’t want the fish to bother me while I’m doing it. Pulling a fish through the water, removing the hook, releasing the fish, such bluster and bother, who needs it? All I want is that simple reassurance that, if nothing else, I can still outwit a creature with a brain the size of a pea. Mashing down the barbs is no longer sufficient. I cut the hook off entirely. The fish can strike, but they can’t get get hooked.:evil

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    Ho-made glass bead nymph. No hook, no fish were harmed in the making of this ride report.

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    The Brook Trout are the sacred keepers of the mountain stream Tao. What I can describe with my words, isn't it. The Brook Trout are far more eloquent on this subject than I.

    It's time to go. I pack up the Honda.

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    Fly lonely rider
    No dreams can posess you
    No voices can blame you
    For sun on your wings
    My gentle relations
    Have names they must call me
    For loving the freedom
    Of all flying things

    Next: backroads
    #20