Kiritimati lies about 140 miles north of the equator, 1300 miles south of Honolulu.
Just to clear things up, Kiritimati (a respelling of the English word, Christmas) is pronounced ‘Kirismas’ in the Kiribati language.
Having never been on a destination fishing trip, a recent visit to Kiritimati aka Christmas Island (or CXI if you’re just too busy to spell it out) was a big deal, and it exceeded expectations. I define ‘destination fishing trip’ as a distant location to which one must travel a great distance by air to go fishing. Full disclosure: I once flew from Seattle to Boise (and from there drove a few hours to Victor, ID, to fish) but it was only an hour-long flight so it doesn’t qualify.
The trip to CXI Kiritimati was hosted by my buddy, Joe Willauer (a hobby fishing guide in Montana whom I met many years ago when he was just a boy and a dirtbag real fly fishing guide). The trip package was through Flywater Travel and was very well done. Pre-trip communication was quite thorough and included what we should expect—and not expect—on the island, which really isn’t an island but rather a raised coral atoll (and in fact the world’s largest one at that). Our guides on the island atoll were through Christmas Island Outfitters, and were excellent. We stayed at Sunset Horizon Fishing Lodge, and from what I was told by Joe (who had been to Kiritimati several times previously), it was an upgrade from previous locations he had stayed, in particular with regards to the dining arrangements.
From Seattle we flew to Honolulu on Memorial Day and overnighted at the lavish Waikiki Sand Villa Hotel, a building that may well have been one of the first high-rise hotels in Honolulu following Hawaii’s statehood in 1959. It clearly caters to foreign tourists and despite that we couldn’t read any of the signage in the lobby, it provided us with all that we required for our one night stay on Oahu. It was the perfect transitional housing before spending the next 7 days on Kiritimati.
Our spacious lanai at the Waikiki Sand Villa Hotel with view of the neighboring hotel’s pool.
Jimmy places a last minute order on Amazon from the comfort of our room at the Waikiki Sand Villa Hotel.
We undoubtedly missed out on some fun activities because of the language barrier.
I’m not sure what this was but I was afraid to try it twice.
That evening we met up with the rest of our group for supper. Joe was accompanied by his dad, Billy Joe, and his buddy Cap’n Jesse (a real, live fishing guide who lives on Oahu). These three had been to Kiritimati several times and were all chill, like, “Yeah, CXI, no big deal.” Also in attendance were a couple of fellas from the Lone Star state, Gus and Woodrow, whom Joe had known for years as they drive cattle travel to Montana each year to fish. We enjoyed fine island fare at Uncle’s Fish Market & Grill and shared conversation with friends new and old. On Tuesday morning we boarded a Fiji Airways flight from Honolulu to Cassidy International Airport on Kiritimati. This leg of the trip was aboard a Boeing 737-700 (not a single engine prop plane) and the flight crew was fantastic (airlines in the states could learn a little something about hospitality from the Fijian crew). The 3 hour flight went by quickly despite that we left Oahu on Tuesday and landed on Kiritimati on Wednesday (time travel is hard to wrap my head around). I’m not sure when we crossed over the International Date Line but I was completely alert and glad to have had a window seat when Kiritimati first came into view. The anticipation had been great, and seeing the island from the air added to the excitement.
Flying over the lagoons of Kiritimati.
We would be staying right…there.
Joe had prepared us for the worst part of the trip, which would be the customs “holding pen” at the airport on Kiritimati. In years past, foreigners would have to spend a few unpleasant hours in what sounded like a non-air conditioned chicken coop as they waited for their outbound flight at the end of their trip. Much to our surprise and delight, a new airport facility had been constructed in the past year, opening in February 2019. There was nothing shoddy about the modern facilities at Cassidy International airport, and while it would be several days before we had to concern ourselves with outgoing customs detainment, there would be nothing to dread.
Cassidy International airport on Kiritimati.
There is one incoming flight from and one outgoing flight to Honolulu each week, so Tuesdays Wednesdays are kind of a big deal on the island. We were greeted at the airport by Bita Kairaio, owner and head guide at Christmas Island Outfitters. We then loaded into our Uber X transport truck for a 20 minute drive to the lodge. Kiritmati is part of the nation of Kiribati which is said to be one of the 12 most remote countries in the world and is described as sub-third world (whatever that means). Along the drive (on the wrong side of the road, mind you) it was immediately clear that the people here don’t have much. Streets were intermittently lined with elevated water tanks and shipping containers as we passed schools and churches and a couple of small, simple stores on our way through the town of Ronton (London). Houses varied from 3-sided huts with roofs made of woven coconut palm leaves to tidy concrete block homes with metal roofs, and everything in between. Children frolicked and adults of all ages milled about, all appearing to have good posture (not a single one of them had their faces buried in a smart phones because, well, there aren’t too many smart phones on the island). Motorcycles and a variety of cars and trucks, in a wide variety of physical condition, zipped about town. Light duty Isuzu diesel trucks were predominant while Toyota Hilux diesel trucks were also common (wish we could get those in the states).
All loaded up and ready for the drive to the lodge. No padded seats available and seatbelts not required.
Shipping containers and water tanks: common roadside attractions.
We arrived at Sunset Horizon Fishing Lodge, a modest but attractive facility on the beach in the heart of the town. Three concrete block buildings, two units per building, provided very simple but clean rooms that each included two twin beds and an adjoining bathroom (a sink, shower and toilet). We were glad to have a new AC unit which kept hour room as cold as we wanted it at night. A large, covered patio served as our central gathering place and dining room. The beach was just a few steps from there.
Sunset Horizon Fishing Lodge: Fish camp for the week.
While it was no Ho Hum Motel, our room was clean and perfectly adequate.
Sunset Horizon Fishing Lodge is aptly named.
A commercial fishing ship and processor anchored off the shore of Ronton, Kiritimati.
Meals were served to us by a very friendly and accommodating staff. Our hostess, Lisa, is a local employee of Flywater Travel and was on hand each evening to make sure we had everything we needed. Beer choices consisted of Heinekin and Budweiser, served slightly below room temperature. Fortunately I am as far from a beer snob as a person can possibly get, so I had no issues with the selection of swill beer. That said, it was rather nice to have purchased some liquor at the duty-free store in the Honolulu airport. The rum went quickly (note to self: bring more next time). The food was better than anticipated, with fish, chicken, and lamb being frequent visitors to our dinner plates. Breakfast was quite good as well, with usually eggs and a breakfast meat, and there was plenty of it. I never left the table hungry. Lunch was—as we were told to expect—rather minimalist. The PB&J sandwiches were robust and filled a void, but we supplemented with protein bars, dried fruit, and jerky. On the third day I opted for the fish sandwich and was glad I did because it was delicious. A tuna type spread with sweet onions. Two thumbs up.
This gives you a very brief glimpse into what it took to get to Kiritimati, and what we encountered upon arrival. Next up, the fishing part (because that’s why we were there, right?).
The Firehole Rangers recently returned from a trip to Kiritimati (aka Christmas Island, or CXI in modern day acronym-speak). Since this trip replaced our annual pilgrimage to the Firehole this year, the temptation to compare the two destinations was impossible to resist. One would think that traveling to the a remote island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean to chase bonefish (and other odd , tropical species) would be as far from chasing trout in Yellowstone National Park as two destinations could possibly be. Ironically, it wasn’t that much different, and after this entry I’m sure you’ll agree that the similarities are mind boggling.
I want to preface that any reference to Seattle is for general purposes only. None of the Rangers actually live in Seattle. Near, perhaps, but definitely not IN Seattle.
- From Seattle, it is 738 miles to West Yellowstone, our base camp when fishing the Firehole River. From Seattle, it is 3789 miles to Kiritimati. Each distance contains the numerals 7, 3, and 8.
- It takes us 12 hours by car to get to West Yellowstone and we cross the Continental Divide. It took us 9 hours by air to reach Kiritimati and we crossed the International Dateline.
- When we visit West Yellowstone, we encounter a lot of foreign tourists (tourons). When we visited Kiritimati, we were foreign tourists (hopefully not tourons).
And now for a photographic exposé that reveals just how much the two places have in common:
Top: A photo from above the Firehole River. Bottom: A photo from high above Kiritimati.
Top: Storm clouds in the distance on the Firehole. Bottom: Storm clouds in the distance on Kiritimati.
Top: The streets of West Yellowstone, USA, in early June. Bottom: The streets of London, Kiritimati, in early June.
Top: Jimmy and Goose enjoying a break between catching fish on the Firehole. Bottom: Goose and Jimmy enjoying a break between catching fish on Kiritimati.
Top: Marck long-arming a fish on the Firehole. Bottom: Marck long-arming a bonefish on Kiritimati.
Top: The UA not catching fish on the Firehole River. Bottom: The UA not catching fish on Kiritimati.
Top: Jimmy tight to a fish on the Firehole. Bottom: Jimmy tight to a fish on Kiritimati.
Top: Goose with a nice Firehole brown. Bottom: Goose with a nice Kiritimati bone.
Top: Walking near Fountain Flat to fish the Firehole. Bottom: Walking the flats to fish on Kiritimati.
Top: We encounter herds of native wildlife (American Bison) on our way to fish the Firehole. Bottom: We encountered schools of native wildlife (Manta Rays) on our way to fish on Kiritimati.
Top: The Big Sexy along the the Firehole River. Bottom: The Big Sexy on Kiritimati.
Top: A cat in the office of the Ho Hum in West Yellowstone. Bottom: A dog in the street of London, Kiritimati.
Top: The sun rises in West Yellowstone. Bottom: The sun sets on Kiritimati.
I hope you enjoyed the comparison—no doubt you were as surprised as we were at how much the two vastly different locales have in common. Stay tuned for more coverage of our trip to Kiritimati.
If you haven’t paid the UA a visit since last November, I can’t say that you missed much since that was the last time I posted anything. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or something like that.
Anyway, this is normally the time of year that I’d be gearing up for the annual pilgrimage of the Firehole Rangers to our namesake river in Yellowstone National Park. It’s been that way for years, with very little change to the itinerary. Creatures of habit we are, and we like it that way.
Well, that all changes this year–we’re not going. Not all of us, anyway (I think Morris is going, not sure about Nash). But Marck, Goose, Jimmy and me aren’t.
And that can be blamed on last year’s trip (which I didn’t write about).
The Firehole Rangers 2018
On our way to the Firehole last year, Morris, Marck, Jimmy and me stopped in and fished the Beaverhead with the guys from 4 Rivers Fishing Company in Twin Bridges. The next day was a down day with nothing to do but make our way toward West Yellowstone. We uncharacteristically took our time, stopping to wander around Virginia City (a place we had driven through but never stopped to see due to frantic driving schedules). It’s worth a stop to see how folks in this once-thriving gold town lived.
These boots were made for walking? More like Cruel Shoes.
We then continued on to West Yellowstone and the Ho Hum, where Nash and Goose joined us after having made the Big Drive in one day. The next day we fished the Firehole, and while fishing was better than it had been the past few years, it was nothing to write home about (so I didn’t). A beauty day it was, though. A day fit for sun bathing (sorry for the following photo).
The Big Sexy of the Firehole.
Shed hunting along the banks of the Firehole.
The next day we fished my favorite river, the Madison. Then we drove once again to Twin Bridges and the following day fished the Big Hole with the guys from 4 Rivers Fishing Company.
The river was huge with runoff and we were all split up fishing different sections of the river, each boat trying to scratch out an existence. Jimmy and I were in my buddy Joe Willauer’s craft and after getting eaten alive by mosquitos at the Notch Bottom launch, we proceeded to get into some good fishing. I don’t remember the details but fishing was very solid despite really high, brown water. Fish were caught, most of them browns and many of them good sized fish.
A rare accomplishment
Fish the cottonwoods
At one point during the float Joe started droning on and on about his trip to Christmas Island from which he had just returned. He’d been a couple of times before and had had a good enough time that he continued to go back. He kept talking about Bonefish, Giant Trevally, buck-toothed fish that eat crabs, yadda, yadda, yadda. It was kinda hard to wrap our heads around that type of fishing while we drifted through flooded cottonwoods, nymphing for big browns in high water. But Joe just wouldn’t shut up about this Christmas Island place.
Joe catches and nets his own fish while yammering on and on about Kiritimati
As it turns out, ‘Christmas Island’ shouldn’t really be called Christmas Island, because it’s not the real Christmas Island (you know, the place in the Indian Ocean with the Great Crab Migration). The “Christmas Island” where Joe goes is actually Kiritimati, pronounced ‘Kirisimas’ by the locals and then bastardized by foreign anglers who refer to it as ‘Christmas Island’. But I digress. By the end of the Big Hole float, Joe had nearly talked us into joining him next (this) year.
Long story short, in the months that followed we signed up to join Joe and some others for a trip to Kiritimati. It was a long winter (though not as long as for those of the Night’s Watch) during which the trip seemed an abstract thing. But before long the trip loomed near, and now it is upon us. On Memorial Day we’ll fly to Honolulu, spend the night, and the next day board a Fiji Airways flight, 3 hours south to Christmas Island Kiritimati. For the next 6 days we will chase Bonefish and hope to get a shot at a Giant Trevally and maybe some of those buck-toothed fish that eat crabs. It’s going to be very interesting, and a far cry from the Ho Hum and the Firehole.
After I return, I promise to share the trip here on the blog—Maybe not right away—but eventually. After all, I wouldn’t want to post content on a regular basis.
Think about it first.
I’m not alarmist but I would say that under certain circumstances I may have a tendency to be somewhat cautious. Especially when it comes to matters involving personal safety. Even as a kid and young adult I was never one to throw caution to the wind. Suffice it to say I missed Nike’s memo urging us to “just do it” and I’m certainly not going to start doing it now (takes way too long to heal). I definitely give the matter of “potential” threats to my well-being some serious consideration and one such potential threat facing some or even many of us when we participate in our favorite outdoor activities is aggressive wildlife. Be it bears, mountain lions, a cow moose with a calf or—even less likely—the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog, the threats are potential.
This blog entry isn’t a call for everyone to arm themselves with a gun, knife and/or bear spray when venturing outside into the woods. Nor is this intended to start a debate about one form being more effective than another, or whether we should even carry any form of defensive device: there is plenty of debate to be found elsewhere on that matter. The point of today’s blog is to offer some potentially helpful information if you’ve already thought about it and made the decision to carry one or more forms of the aforementioned defensive items.
It says so right there: Be Prepared.
In addition to not being an alarmist, I am also far from being a fanatic survivalist. If anything, perhaps I have a slight tendency to (sometimes) go a little bit overboard on matters of preparedness (though not excessively). I can’t help myself: I was am an Eagle Scout (1976), and the Scout’s Motto has always stuck with me: Be Prepared. My time in the Scouts introduced me to a love of camping, hiking, backpacking and generally being out in the woods. It’s what appeals to me about fly fishing, and my favorite places to wet a line are in the backcountry, or at least as far from human activity as can be managed at the time.
Last Spring I began exploring a local area that has a network of trails used for hiking, horseback riding and mountain biking. Considered part of the Cascade foothills, nearly 400 acres of this area is owned by King County Parks and butts up to vast expanses of private timber land, and not much else. A local river runs through this remote area, and for some time I’d wanted to find a means of accessing the river there. A fair bit of Internet sleuthing uncovered a route to a section of the river, and upon my first visit one thing became obvious: while it’s no secret honey hole, neither is it frequented by humans. Only a 6 mile drive to the trailhead from my home, to get to this particular spot on the river requires a two-ish mile hike or bike (or a combination of the two) on trails that grow increasingly less traveled the farther one goes. Once at the river, it feels very remote. Very lonely. Kinda perfect. I hoped the catching might be good due to a lack of angling pressure (thus far that hasn’t proven to be the case, unfortunately).
Trailhead sign reminds us that we’re just visiting their world.
Despite the relative closeness to human inhabitation this area is prime wildlife country. Deer are plentiful and where there are deer there are other critters that eat deer. Bears don’t typically hunt deer, though they will feed on a carcass, but cougars (mountain lions) are a different story: they’re predators of the deer-hunting kind. It’s not too common, but neither is it altogether unusual to see a bear shit in the woods. It’s even less likely that you’ll see a mountain lion. In fact most people never see one in their lifetime, which is not to say these same people haven’t been seen by mountain lions. They are there, and not always deep in the woods. It’s roughly estimated that Washington state has a population of 2,100 mountain lions. Approximately 46% of the land area in the state is considered to be cougar habitat. The Cascade foothills is undeniably cougar country. My home and many of the areas I enjoy recreating are within this region, but I’ve never seen a mountain lion in the wild.
In May of this year two people from Seattle were riding their bikes on gravel forest roads near North Bend, WA (about 25 miles from my home). Tragedy struck when the cyclists were attacked by a mountain lion. One of the bikers was killed; the other escaped with injuries and was able to call 911. Even if you’re not from the state of Washington you likely heard about the incident as there was no shortage of news coverage. Do a quick search for Washington mountain lion attack and you’ll discover myriad news stories about the incident. Here is one article that discusses the attack and raises some interesting speculation as to why it may have occurred. The devastating incident was big news because it was the first fatal cougar attack in Washington in more than 90 years. According to Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife (WDFW) there have been only 20 recorded cases of mountain lion/human contact where injuries of any kind were sustained. The odds are highly in your favor that you will never encounter a mountain lion, let alone one that acts aggressively toward you. The chances of being killed by a mountain lion are so slim that it’s not something most people ever considered a remote possibility. Until last May.
The May 18 attack shocked a lot of people who typically venture into the woods to recreate. It struck fear into many who hike and bike in the general vicinity of the incident. It got a lot of people thinking about their safety, and outdoor forums were abuzz with discussions of the attack in particular, and mountain lion threats in general. On a mountain biking forum which is focused on one particular area that I’ve ridden several times in recent months, talk of the attack had people describing non-aggressive encounters and sightings that they’d had on trails. I was surprised at how many people had actually seen cougars here. The attack definitely got me pondering the potential threats that lurk in the outdoor areas where I enjoy playing. Just this past September Jimmy and I were riding our bikes up an access road toward an area of trails we’ve many times ridden since. As we pedaled up the road a log truck approached and came to a stop. The driver jumped down from the cab and informed us that the logging crew had seen a “300 pound cat” observing them just up the road where they were cutting (and where we would be riding past). While mountain lions don’t get that big, I don’t doubt that it was a big cat. We never saw the lion, but it served as a reminder that they are there.
I’ve carried bear spray in Yellowstone, British Columbia and remote Idaho, but never gave it much thought elsewhere closer to home. Following the fatality last Spring I began carrying a canister of bear spray with me when I ventured out to the remote section of the local river (which is only about 12 miles by way of the crow from where the May 2018 attack occurred).
One bear.
On one occasion in June of this year I was standing near the bank of the river when a bear emerged from the brush 80 yards below me and proceeded to cross the river. Another bear followed fairly close behind. The first was fairly small, likely a yearling cub. The second bear was much larger, and wearing a radio collar. Probably the mother. Why was she wearing a collar? Had she caused previous problems? What sort of problems? Yes, my mind went there pretty quickly.
Two bear.
Clutching my trusty 3 weight in one hand, with the other I slowly removed the bear spray from the holster on my hip and removed the safety tab. I watched and waited as the bears nonchalantly made their way across the river and up the steep hillside before vanishing into the woods (in the same direction I would be going on my return trip). Fortunately their poor eyesight failed them and the wind was in my favor so they never detected me. Chances are they would have been in a greater hurry to leave had they been aware of my presence.
See ya, bear.
When we in the western states think of dangerous bears, most often grizzlies come to mind. We don’t have grizzly bears (Ursus arctos) here in western WA, and the black bears (Ursus americanus) are not typically known to be aggressive toward humans (Homo sapiens). However, though very rare, there have been documented cases of black bear attacks in Washington, some fairly recent. As I climbed the steep trail back to where I’d stashed my bike, I made plenty of noise so as to avoid a surprise encounter on the trail with the two bruins. As I rode the trail out, my Timber Bell jingled all the way. Was I worried? Not terribly so. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a tad relieved when I arrived back at the trailhead without having seen a single critter.
Except for when they’re raiding neighborhood garbage cans at night, or backyard bird feeders, black bears tend to avoid humans. Most wild animals do, but that doesn’t mean we should be complacent when we’re in their world. And the line between our world and theirs is being blurred as suburban sprawl pushes further into their territory. More and more people recreate outdoors as well, and as we continue to encroach (even temporarily) on their habitat, wildlife begin to get more comfortable in the presence of human activity. Ten years ago I caught a brief glimpse a black bear that had been hanging around our home for several days, no doubt foraging on late summer berries. The next day I got a good look at the bear, and it got a good look at me. Apparently the bear didn’t like what it saw because it quickly turned on its heels and darted into the woods. I never saw it again, though neighbors did report seeing what was likely the same bear. It was a healthy adult, appeared to be rather well fed. That year I picked blackberries elsewhere.
Backyard bear, 2008.
Back to the more recent day on the local river: it felt reassuring to have the bear spray with me and I was glad I didn’t have to use it. And I’m particularly glad I didn’t encounter the bears while riding the trail, with my bear spray strapped to the handlebars. This got me to thinking that there had to be a better means of carrying a canister of spray while riding my bike.
Bike, check. Fishing gear, check. Bear spray (though not ideally located), check.
Turning to the Internet I soon learned that carrying bear spray on a bike requires some careful consideration. One could strap it to the handlebars, as I had done, or keep it in a frame-mounted bag, or use a “Bear Cozy” in the water bottle cage. But what if you were to fall or get knocked off your bike? In this instance the bear spray becomes inaccessible, and bear spray isn’t much use if you can’t get to it in a couple of seconds. The rapid deployment rule means that carrying it in your backpack isn’t a viable option, either. Having it on your person is the only way that truly makes sense, with this important caveat: if the spray is strapped to your hip, you risk injuring yourself on the canister in the event of a fall. Considering these points, I delved further into the great Internet Abyss before arriving at what I found is perhaps the most effective, safest means of carrying bear spray: a chest pack.
Hill People Gear Kit Bag, FHF Gear Bear Spray Holster, and 10.2 ounces of Counter Assault.
I first learned of Hill People Gear while perusing discussions on a mountain bike forum. Among other things, the company makes a series of what they refer to as “Kit Bags”. These chest packs come in a variety of sizes and configurations that are designed specifically with carrying a handgun in mind. The people behind Hill People Gear are avid outdoors folk and it’s no coincidence that their kit bags are perfectly suited to mountain biking applications. The bags seemed to make a lot of sense, so I ordered up their V2 Original Kit Bag SAR (Search and Rescue) Version. What I like about the pack is that it has loops, or more technically correct, PALS (Pouch Attachment Ladder System), on the bottom of the bag—seemingly a perfect place to attach a canister of bear spray. The bag also has diagonal PALS webbing down the front, to which Search and Rescue personnel would typically attach a radio. A survival knife with the proper MOLLE (Modular Lightweight Load-carrying Equipment) strap can also be attached here. I could have attached the bear spray holster to the front of the pack but I wanted to keep the profile as slim as possible.
Next I had to find the right bear spray holster to use with the Hill People Gear pack, so once again down the rabbit hole of the Internet I went. FHF Gear makes exactly what I was looking for: an Expandable Bear Spray Holster. It’s perfect because it is MOLLE-equipped and will accommodate a variety of different sized canisters of spray (I carry a 10.2 ounce can of Counter Assault). Mrs. UA was quick to point out that the blaze orange holster clashes with the bright red of the kit bag, but that’s just something I’ll have to live with. Besides, there’s another motto worthy of consideration: Be safe, be seen.
When loaded, the kit bag is comfortable, though admittedly not as comfortable as, say, not wearing it at all. Worn while riding my bike, it doesn’t impede pedaling and most of the time I hardly notice that it’s there. The harness is breathable and it’s easy to put on and remove. Proper adjustment of the straps is important (and easy) so that the bag doesn’t ride too low or flap loosely against your chest. There are three spacious pockets capable of holding a wallet, phone, snack bars, a knife, multi-tool, whatever. The main (rear) pocket is padded and intended specifically for carrying a handgun. If that interests you, the Hill People Gear website lists which handguns will fit in each of their packs. While it’s a great setup for biking, the kit bag also makes for a nearly perfect chest pack when walking and wading a river. In addition to the other items mentioned, a couple of fly boxes fit nicely and are easily accessed without having to dig into a backpack or sling pack. After all, when there’s a hatch coming off you want to deploy the right fly quickly.
So there you have it. Be prepared when you venture into the woods. Whether you’re hiking, biking or fishing it’s also a good idea to do so with someone else although admittedly many of us enjoy solo excursions from time to time. Make sure that whatever you are carrying for defensive protection is done so in a safe manner that is efficiently accessed should you ever need it. The odds of a dangerous wildlife encounter may be astronomically low, but statistics mean nothing when it happens to you.
Have fun out there, and be smart. Just do it. Be prepared.
Disclaimer: I did not receive any of the products from Hill People Gear or FHF Gear or Counter Assault for the purposes of a gear review. Purchasing these items was my own decision and full retail was paid. I was just another internet order; these companies don’t even know who I am or that I am writing this blog.
Over the past few of months I made the decision that, since I haven’t been fishing enough to warrant writing much on that topic, I would just remain silent. There’s something very soothing in silence. Besides, how much can be written about fishing that hasn’t already been written? Even my reports about the annual Firehole Rangers trips start sounding like cut-and-paste jobs after a while. But when a recent inquiry by a dedicated follower noted how quiet things had been lately, I decided to break my silence, to use this blog as a venue for publishing my thoughts on other matters as they strike me. It’s my blog, after all, so I can do what I damn well please. If you’re one of the 7 or 9 readers who continue to buy a ticket to the show, I imagine that—as I veer off the fly fishing topic—those numbers will dwindle to the point where nobody is reading the content other than myself and the unfortunate person who stumbles upon my blog while going down the rabbit hole of the internet. That said, the following entry is something that I feel compelled to write about. If you don’t like it, I’m sure there are still some fly fishing blogs that remain for your enjoyment. I wouldn’t know, however: once popular and plentiful, fly fishing blogs seem to be going the way of the Neanderthal.
There is no arguing that Fall is a beautiful time of year, even during an election year.
Many of you will probably probably disagree with what I am writing about today because that’s what it seems we Americans do more and more: we disagree with one another. If you’re not American, you probably disagree with what Americans are disagreeing about, and Americans take issue with that. And in this divisive time of rampant disagreement and intolerance of opposing views, there exists a no more heated topic of debate than politics.
And this is an election year.
But it’s also Fall, or Autumn, depending upon which term you elect to use in your vocabulary (neither is wrong, it’s just a matter of preference and should be respectfully honored). Being Autumn Fall the Leaf Season, as I sit here in my office—even with the window closed—I can hear the roar of a distant yard appliance. The sound of fallen foliage management is so loud that it nearly drowns out the the political ads spewing from the radio. Ah, yes, ’tis the season of the leaf blower.
Raking leaves blows.
These raging 2 cycle, gas-powered machines are as divisive as any measure on the ballot. People either love them or hate them.
Those that don’t have a leaf blower detest them for either their noise or air pollution, undoubtedly both. These same folks also probably have yards the size of a postage stamp that can be managed with a rake. More likely, they hire a service to do their yard work (and these hired hands will, without a doubt, employ the use a leaf blower so there is some irony to be found here). On the other side of the fence are those that do have leaf blowers and value these tools for their efficient means of scattering large expanses of fallen leaves.
Well, that’s cute.
There is very little middle ground to be occupied on the matter. Some people attempt to reach across the isle, if you will, to adopt a more neutral stance by purchasing cute, little handheld electric leaf blowers that are much quieter than their gas-powered brethren. The problem with these is that they are also a lot less manly effective. To get the deafening power required for tackling the big jobs, one needs a backpack style, gas-burning, smoke-puking 2-stroke engine that is capable of moving acres of wet leaves (and post-Halloween candy wrappers). It’s what the professionals use. It’s what I have.
I purchased my Stihl BR320 nearly 20 years ago (BTW, BR stands for BRAAAAP) and it’s a workhorse of a machine that would make Tim Allen proud. It has never required service—other than a new spark plug and air cleaner every few years—and it always starts on the 3rd pull. Always (knock on wood). Much like the politicians flooding the media with their pre-election messages, this thing is a serious blowhard; a serious tool that generates hurricane-force wind speeds.
Raking leaves really blows.
However, gas-powered leaf blownership is not altogether a cut-and-dried matter because, while I love mine, I loath it at the same time. It’s loud (I wear shooting ear muffs for protection) and it’s not without its share of emissions (it smokes visibly upon start up, after which the exhaust pollutants are not visible though they are still evident). As one who does, in fact, care about the environment, I’d be remiss if I said I didn’t feel a twinge of guilt when I fire up the old Stihl. Still, use it I do each Fall when the leaves, well, they fall. I also use a rake, but the blower does the heavy work.
We have, in particular, 3 large maple trees in our front yard that yield an inordinately vast supply of foliage. These trees drop their collective loads over the span of a month, beginning innocently enough in mid October, gaining speed and intensity before finally ending sometime around the second or third week in November. A good wind storm, or lack thereof, can either shorten or extend Leaf Season by as much as a week. During the height of the madness, suffice it to say it’s an every-three-days endeavor to attempt (in vain) to stay ahead of the amassing spent vegetation. It should be noted that these leaves are nearly always wet from rain, thus requiring a bit of extra effort to remove them. Even with the right tools it’s a time-consuming and unsavory task, unless you’re like this guy:
Leaf blowing, made fun.
Truth be told, the leaf blower is something I’m glad I have, but wish I never had to use. I don’t enjoy managing fallen leaves, but shy of cutting down the offending trees the leaves are just something I have to live with. Fortunately Leaf Season, as well as the election and the accompanying political ads, will be over with soon (though not soon enough). Then we can all get back to enjoying the peace and quiet, and arguing about politics for another two years.
Meanwhile, you enjoy this video. I know I did.
