Archive for July 11th, 2012

11
Jul
12

Poetry & Protest: Schubart’s ‘Trout’

In a clear stream in happy haste

The impulsive trout darted by like an arrow.

I stood on the bank and watched in sweet quiet

The bath of the lively fish in the clear stream.

A fisherman with his rod stood on the bank

And saw cold-bloodedly how the fish moved about

So long as the water stays clear, I thought,

He won’t catch the trout with his fishing rod.

At last the thief became impatient.

He maliciously made the stream opaque

And I thought, his rod quaked

The fish, the fish was writhing on it,

And I, filled with rage within, looked at the deceived.

You who linger at the Golden Spring

Of a safe youth,

Contemplate the trout;

Recognize her danger, and hurry!

Generally she is missing only

Wisdom. Maidens, keep an eye on

That seducer with the rod! –

Lest you bleed too late.

Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart, “Die Forelle” in Gedichte (1782)

 “Schubart was, like the trout in the muddied waters, lured back for a visit under the pretense that all had been forgiven. He was immediately seized and thrown in the dungeon of Hohenasperg. There were no charges, no trial—the order of the tyrant was enough. Schubart spent nearly a decade of his life confined in the basement of the fortress tower, deprived of light, and initially forbidden to read or write.

Midway through his imprisonment, Schubart composed the poem “The Trout.” Can there be any doubt but that he was thinking of his own capture and imprisonment when he did so?”
11
Jul
12

‘Someday’ A Drive Up the Gorge for Carp

With life’s demands, of late, bumping my fly fishing  toward the side, even a close by trip seems impossible. The other evening I crossed over a nearby slough that connects to the Columbia River. I decided to pull over and peer off the bridge into the weed choked, murky water that ran (oozed is more like it) beneath the bridge. Not a pretty picture but that is what some aspects of ‘brown lining’ are like. 

There laying like a suspended chunk of wood was a Carp. I could barely make out the slightest movement as the fish just held there. If that were a Trout I would consider myself lucky to live within a quarter mile of the trophy sized fish.

But, I must admit, I have not warmed up to the Carp. Of course, I have not caught one to become enamored with the alleged power and awe of the poor man’s bonefish…so on and so on. But, I want to.

My problem is, I believe, location. The slough is almost weed free earlier in the year. The slough now is covered with a mat of ugliness that provides cover, oxygen and feed for the marauding fish. And, impossible presentation of the fly.  Equally close, is the Columbia River and I bet if I headed East a couple hours+, I could find those cruisers in a slightly more hospitable and more scenic environ. Someday.

Check out these three links re those that know what they are doing and have a passion for chasing and catching these behemoths: Roughfisher and Jean Paul Lipton.John Montana and Carp on the Fly….Trevor Tanner and Fly Carpin…..

‘Someday’ That mentally uttered word. Someday I will go here, there and perhaps drive up the Gorge and ply those shallow waters, near the shoreline, of the mighty Columbia River for the much vaunted behemoths….the Carp. Cheaper than Christmas Island that’s for sure. 

This is a picture of Carp Chaser John Montana. If you query Google Images you can find John hoisting Carp twice as big as this fine specimen. These are not large fish from some pond but rather one of the biggest rivers in the U.S.




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