Monday, June 26, 2017

The Plover

Last fall I was in the bookstore on Bainbridge Island when I saw a poster advertising upcoming author events.  I was beyond excited when I read that David James Duncan, author of The River Why and The Brothers K, among others, would be visiting the store.  Joining him was author Brian Doyle, who I hadn't heard of. 

The event was held days after the Presidential election; the room was charged.  Brian addressed the elephant in the room as soon as the event started.  I immediately liked him - he was loud, energetic, sincere, hilarious, and didn't mind cursing.  The readings that Doyle and Duncan gave that evening were as good as any I can remember, and afterward I got a chance to meet the authors and chat.  Per encouragement from friends, I even wore sandals to show Duncan my River Why tattoo.  Duncan laughed and considered drawing a foot around the hook on the inside of the book.  I bought a hard-to-find Duncan book and one of Doyle's, Mink River.  He signed it, "Blessings and laughter."

A few weeks later, on my way back to the island from Thanksgiving in Maine, I started Mink River.  And ate it up.  When I landed in SeaTac, I checked my email and was shocked to see an email entitled "Brian Doyle" from a coworker who had also attended the readings.  The note shared the news that Brian had been diagnosed with a brain tumor shortly after the event at the bookstore.  The email was eerily coincidental.

Brian Doyle passed on 5/27/2017, a few days after I started reading his novel The Plover.  In his words, "Of course you do your absolute best to find and hone and wield your divine gifts against the dark. You do your best to reach out tenderly to touch and elevate as many people as you can reach. You bring your naked love and defiant courage and salty grace to bear as much as you can, with all the attentiveness and humor you can muster; this is, after all, a miracle in which we live, and we ought to pay ferocious attention every moment, if possible."

The Plover is a sea story that follows the vessel of the same name and her crew.  It's a wonderful read, and I recommend it to everyone. 


...

Last weekend I traveled South to Idaho to fish and to pick up my own vessel. This ship needed a captain.  I will be it.  I will call her the Plover, in honor of Brian Doyle.  Now accepting crew applications.

"Why did I name the Plover the Plover, you ask? says Declan to the gull, who had not asked. I’ll tell you. Listen close now, because I have not explained this before and will not again. Far too much repetition in life altogether. We should say things once and let them just shimmer there in the air and fade away or not, as the case may be. The golden plover of the Pacific, the Pacific Golden Plover, is a serious traveler. It wanders, it wends where it will.  It is a slight thing, easily overlooked, but it is a heroic migrant, sailing annually from the top of Pacifica to the bottom. It forages, it eats what it can find. It talks while it travels and those who have heard it say it has a mournful yet eager sound. This seems exactly right to me, mournful yet eager. We regret, yet we push on. We chew the past but we hunger for the future. So I developed an affection and respect for the plover. It’s a little thing the size of your fist, other than those long pencilly legs for sprinting after grasshoppers and crabs and such, but it can fly ten thousand miles across an ocean itching to eat plovers and reaching for plovers with storms and winds and jaegers and such. You have to admire the pluck of the plover. It doesn’t show off and it isn’t pretty and you hardly even notice it, but it’s a tough little bird doing amazing things. Also it really likes berries, which appeals to me. Most of them fly from Siberia or Alaska to Australia and New Guinea and Borneo and such but some of them camp out awhile in Hawaii and just cruise around in the long grass in the sun eating and dozing. This appeals to me. So when it came time to name a little drab boat that wasn’t dashing and didn’t weigh much and no one notices much, but that gets a lot of work done quietly and could if it wanted to sail off and go as far as it wanted way farther than anyone could ever imagine such a little drab thing could do, that might pause here and there at an island so as to allow a guy to eat and doze in the grass, well, that’s why we are the Plover. So now you know. Don’t keep badgering me with questions."

 

Friday, June 9, 2017

Monday, February 13, 2017


Can't catch no steelhead on the bank. 
Didn't catch no steelhead in the water.

Name the bar.
And I'll buy you a drink there.

The road goes on forever.
And the party never ends.

Is it rising or setting?
Can't remember.

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Cheeky Schoolie Tournament 2017

I've said it before and I'll say it agian, every year I do this striped bass, fly fishing only, no boats allowed tournament down on the Cape with my high school buddy, and every year it's a 10 out of 10. Debauchery, sun up to sun down fishing. Somehow every year it's always 75 and sunny and last year, we had a 120 fish day on tournament day. This year, there will be at least 2 BFC teams, but I'd like to see more..... Mark your calendars for May 20th and register now as space is running out!!!

http://cheekyfishing.com/pages/schoolie-tournament

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Logo design contest

BFCers,

I'm using 99designs to create a logo for High Alpine Anglers. It will be for hats, tshirts, boat and vehicle decals, business cards, and the website. Please go to the link and vote on your favorite, it would be a huge help. Also, keep in mind, the logos aren't finalized yet. For example, if I go with the fish jumping out of the water with the rods on either side, the fish would be changed to a trout and the rods turned into fly rods:


Friday, December 23, 2016

People always said, 'There ain't no fish in there!'



A little creek you could spit across
Jimmy and me each took one more toss
Our spinners bright in the evening air
People always said, There ain't no fish in there
Well grownups they ain't always right
Jimmy and me walked home slow that night
Right down Main Street in our P.F. Fliers
With two 5 lb. bass making grown men liars
 
Jimmy if I had known
I might have stopped fishing right then
It's just as well we don't know
When things will never be that good again