I hope you enjoy my blog, a collection of articles and thoughts regarding my interests. I'm a married father of two that loves to write about gliding, hunting, fishing, camping and any outdoor passion. Oh yah, I'm a quadriplegic. I hope this is informative to some, entertaining to others, and interesting to all. Let me know what you think. If you'd like an article for your publication, I've got words I haven't even used yet!
Iphone lost for 24hrs. House turned upside-down, vehicles overturned in search, inappropriate accusations flying, marriage survival unlikely ... then ... www.icloud.com pinpoints the delinquent communications device (green dot on photo, lost while weedeating) ... disbelief ensues (we haven't been out THERE) ... but a click of the "Play Sound" button produces it's mournful cry for help from said location ... rescue imminent, household bliss ensues, apologies accepted, marriage repaired ... all's well. Try icloud.com if you lose your iphone, free but priceless!
My buddy Dave came by the other day for a visit. We hashed out the usual problems that life throws at us. You know the ones, the noise that causes us to lose sleep when we know intellectually that there is no immediate solution, no immediate danger, and losing sleep is just dumb.
"Do you want to b.s. while fishing?" I ask, not trying to railroad my buddy into doing something he doesn't want to by using guilt (who am I kidding? I'll guilt, beg, whine, anything to go fishing! My friends know me too well and factor it into visits).
"I should probably go soon," Dave replies.
"No problem, maybe next time." I reply, knowing that the pond will get to work at its job of luring another fly-rod out of the trunk.
We continue to solve the world's problems with our immense intellect for a few minutes, noting that Dave's eyes are starting to wander towards the trout pond.
"Let's fish," he suddenly announces, "We can talk while casting!"
Within minutes, we're gently dropping our deadly barbless Doc Spratley flies into the clear blue water, still solving previously ignored world crises, but now there are long therapeutic pauses in the conversation to detect the subtle bite of a rainbow trout, and to land and safely release them.
The calendar said spring arrived 5 weeks ago, Global Warming said spring arrived 7 weeks ago, I say spring is coming soon maybe. Summer is short here (I hear it falls on a Tuesday this year), so we don't want to waste any of it!
Fly-fishing/Ice-fishing is a uniquely Canadian sport. Where else would you cast a bug into an opening in an ice-covered lake, trying to convince a normally-intelligent Rainbow Trout that this is a plausible natural occurrence. Yesterday was a great day to give it a whirl, what a blast!
Ah summertime! The time us Canucks enjoy the things in life that the rest of the world brags about all winter on Facebook! There's camping in the mountains, fly-fishing, hiking, flying gliders, beautiful sunsets on the deck with the aroma of the bar-b-que. Here it is, April, the time that the grass starts growing, the flowers pop and the world comes to life.
I emerge from the bedroom this morning, nicely coiffed with fresh coffee steaming in cup. I arrive at my computer desk with smile on face, gaze out the window at the gorgeous springtime ... wtf? ... the window's fogged ... no ... wait ... it's friggin snow! The wind is howling, snow is a foot deep, the grass is all buried again! A quick check of the calendar reveals that yes, it is April, but snow? Blizzard? A glance around the room and there it is, my fly-rod in the corner, waiting patiently, not in any hurry to get to work.
I find a video in the far corner of my computer and dust it off. It was taken last summer for just such an occasion! While camping in the mountains, we mounted a camera on my hat (imagine that, it's hard enough for us gimps to look cool let alone letting somebody strap a camera on our head), and I travelled a 17min loop down nature trails. I now sit and watch the video with steaming coffee and smug grin, daydreaming about summer weather that may make a guest appearance some day. Isn't global warming great?
A quick glance to the right reveals the glider turning towards you. You're at 8,000 feet near the Livingston Range just North of Cowley Alberta. You can see the mountains, lakes, rivers, towns and roads far below. The two gliders circle inside the thermal. The pilots have their heads on 'swivel', being careful to keep each other in sight to prevent a midair collision.
"Ok, this thermal is dyin', let's carry on," says Dwayne from Grande Prairie.
"Sounds good," I reply as we both roll our gliders level, retract the flaps, and head out to the Southeast.
"When was this?" you might ask.
"Last evening." sez I.
"Where?" you reply, thinking that there's no gliding in The Great White North in February ... eh.
"At home,"
"You been smokin' or drinkin'?"
"Nope, been flyin" I reply.
"Bull Sh--," you say, not watching your language very well I might add.
My bobber disappears below the clear blue waves, and stays under. "I wonder what bit this time?" I say.
I reel up the slack in my line as quick as I can (us quads take forever to do this, especially in a hurry) and when it is almost tight I give the rod a sharp tug upward. I feel the thud (uh-oh) as the line tightens on something REAL solid, and the hook is sunk deep into whatever bit it. Then I see a large splash in the water, and a cloud of silt as the fish takes off from left to right in about 3 feet of water. The line starts peeling off my reel at an incredible rate.
Winter has hit early here in Alberta Canada, but November is the time of deer hunting. Luckily for me I have a buddy like David Loshny. If I ever lose the enthusiasm to hunt, I only need to observe the work he is willing to do to include me in the hunt ... thanks Dave!
The other day the phone rings, "Two p.m. work?"
"Yeppers!" I reply, knowing that this is the call to hunt.
It was cold and windy, and while us quads are cold-blooded, we installed the arctic-strength fur-lined (and of course mega-stylish ... NOT!) "block-heater" and off we went.
"We should check our rifles" Dave said.
"Yep," I reply, "I think my rifle has been dropped, better check."
You might think that a 300 Winchester Magnum rifle is a little large for a quadriplegic, but this one behaves itself quite nicely. Pud at the Bashaw Sport Shop helped me choose a Browning Bar semi-automatic, which has reduced recoil over bolt action rifles. Then he installed a muzzle-brake, and my 300 mag now kicks like it's a 6mm!
We set up in a field to shoot at 100yds. Even though it was quite gusty and cold, we managed to get a few shots off. I pull the trigger by clenching on a clothspin-type device, and the gun is held by a rack that has been redesigned a few times over the last 20 years!
After 3 shots I was out by about 4 inches, confirming that being dropped had affected the accuracy! A few adjustments later and I was 2 inches high at 100yds, great for hunting! Another Super Day with Dave!
