So Smart...

Well, it's been said a bazillion times before - the older I get and the more I learn, the more I realize how little I know. 

Often times kids expect their science teacher to know everything.  The more I've been at this teaching gig, the less difficult it has become to admit to a kid that I don't know the answer to a particular question.  I'll tell them what I do know,where to look for the answer, then ask a few days later what they found out.  Most don't bother, just wanting a quick and definitive answer.

Watched the first episode of the new Cosmos show.  I like the old one better.  The feel of the old one was one of wonder and discovery.  The feel of this one is one of they're certain of their
answers and we're lucky they're letting us in on it. 

The older I get the more I seem to be coming into contact with "Cliff Clavens" who are convinced of how damned smart they are.  So, if you're so damned smart why do you work so hard at convincing everyone of it?  Is it so threatening that you might not be the smartest person in the room?

Also, the older I get the less patience I seem to have for the Cliffies.  I'm tired of having to be aggressive when conversing with these kinds of people, who so stubbornly cling to their need to be right even when they're not or if there isn't just one right view.   Can't we just have a conversation where you aren't the expert giving a lecture to anyone who will listen?

The genuinely off-the-charts intelligent folks I've had a chance to meet over the years have had a humility that these new know-it-alls seem to lack.  I'm not one of the truly bright ones.  Never have been, never will be.  I'm O.K. with that though.  Love talking with the folks who are.

I still love the process of learning.  Don't think I'll ever get tired of it.

What do you know?  What are you willing to admit that you don't know?

Woodstock

The Retro channel played the Woodstock documentary tonight.  I used to think I would have loved to have been there if I was ten years older.  After watching the film for the first time in a long time, I'm not so sure now.  The music was unbelievable, but the crap going on out in the fields would have been tough to put up with.  Humanity.  You have to take the bad with the good.  Guess that will never change, will it?  Far out, man.

Winter Sucks!

That's pretty much it.  At least the Seahawks won and the Husky basketball team did, too.  The sun is supposed to make another appearance Wednesday.  

                                            Hiking today.

The Big Five-O

Forty was just a number.  For some reason fifty seems more serious.  A half-century.  Maybe it's partly because I can still remember when my grandparents were at the age I am now.  It is a cliche to say I don't feel fifty, but it doesn't make it any less true.  I definitely thought I would be more mature at this age.  Fart sounds and well-timed "That's-what-she-said!" jokes still crack me up.  I can still happily watch South Park or Beevis and Butthead when I'm in the right mood for it.  I still have problems with authority or perceived authority. 

I was lucky enough to spend yesterday with my best friend, Mick and his family.  I spent the better part of today with part of my family.  It's nice to be around people I've known for over thirty years.  It's relaxing to be with folks who have seen me at my best and worst and still put up with it all.

When I was younger, I didn't think I would make it to thirty.  Now it's twenty years past that point, knowing I should be getting reading glasses, receiving mail from AARP, and talking about surgeries and aching body parts.  Being single at fifty just plain isn't much fun.  The idea of being with someone else who would be trying to tell me what's wrong with me while trying to change me into who they think they want has no appeal, either.

The best I can come up with right now is that turning fifty is still more appealing than not turning fifty.  It sort of feels like being in a car or on a train and realizing the brakes don't work.

  

Coming Down

I've been coaching basketball now for more than 30 years.  I still love the laser-like focus I get during a close game.  The rest of the world disappears, it's just me, the players, the refs, and maybe the other coach.  After all these years it still takes hours to let go after the game has played out and everyone's headed home.

Tonight was one of the few times I've had to coach both teams.  The first game we won by a basket, the second we lost by a basket.  The second game finished about four hours ago, and I'm just now beginning to ease off a little.

One of the things that definitely helps is music.  After so much time and so many different artists, my two favorite musicians are still the guys who were my favorites when I was a teenager - Jimi Hendrix and Keith Richards.

I flirted with playing the guitar for a while, but it didn't take too long to realize that these two hands were not made for playing the kind of music I had hoped to produce.  It's ironic that although I hold pencils, pens, and paper clips all day, my hands look like the were made to turn wrenches, something I definitely inherited from the old man.

I can't even type efficiently to this day.  My fingers are often dyslexic.  Reading has always been easy for me, but the fingers still insist on reversing letter orders.  So tonight I've been slowly coming down, listening to old Stones, Hendrix, and Maytals tunes, and now struggling my way through typing this roundabout stream of semi-consciousness.

Good night.  Soon, I hope.

Soul Fishing

This is a post I meant to do earlier.

I had recently guided a gentleman from Texas and two of his sons.  The place I took them to was one I wouldn't take local clients.  It could be spoiled too easily.

We had a good talk about favorite rivers.  Sometimes it's not an entire stream, but a certain run on a given river that has an almost indescribable quality that keeps you coming back for more.

There are just some places that reach a little deeper than most.   I call this soul fishing, a term I stole from "soul boarding" which is snow boarding in true, deep, light powder.

After fishing these soulful spots I have always come back happier than when I left, often with a feeling that transcends mere happiness.

Here are a few pictures from one such stream of soul.

Expedition Arctic

Maybe it's the approaching 50th birthday, maybe too much time alone, who knows.  This has been a strange period in life lately.  Still passionate about teaching.  Still passionate about fly fishing.  The hunting bug has waned the past couple of years.  Still passionate about coaching track, not so sure about basketball right now.  I have too much on my plate that I seem to be doing kind of half-assed, by my standards.  The job is still getting done, but not with the same degree of enthusiasm or attention to detail as before.

Friday we had a class field trip to a local creek.  It was the coldest day in years.  Twenty-one degrees with the wind whipping at times.  We managed to pull it all off, but I had to play the roll of cheer-leader all day, not just for the kids but also for the bus driver, transportation director, teachers back at school, and the interns from the local non-profit who were putting on the whole trip.  I almost thought of canceling the whole enchilada, but decided a little adventure and adversity would be good for the little darlins.   So it was up to me to fire up the troops.  I'm not the rah-rah type by nature, but you gotta do what you gotta do.  It makes me wonder about the kind of doubts and hurdles encountered by people who have had to lead others through challenges that were infinitely tougher.

Digging out of this rut has been much tougher than I had imagined.  Constantly looking for sources of inspiration and ways to bring back discipline.  Still working on finding something that will stick for more than a month.
                                                             

What it really looked like.       




                                                   What it felt like.

Beyond Comfort Food

It's fall.  Yes, I know I've written that before, but it's FALL!  Uncle Mike and I headed for the hills to celebrate the annual opening of grouse season.  The weather was warmer than usual, but we did manage to find a few birds on our favorite ridge.  There's nothing like taking in the views of the Cascades, with a cooling breeze rustling through the trees while sharing a snack with someone who genuinely appreciates what it's like to be there this time of year.

Saturday night I went back and forth from the fire ring to the pickup cab to listen to the Husky football.  No, I didn't attend the University of Washington and had no desire to go to a school that big, but I have been watching and/or listening to their games since I was a little kid.  The Dawgs played their butts off, handing Boise State a 38 to 6 beating, revenge for last winter's bowl game loss.  I was ecstatic to hear that UW finally has a defense again.

Headed out after school to hike the Pine and Cedar Lakes Trail today.  Huffed and puffed my way up to the overlook ridge.  I didn't stay at the top long because there was a guy at the overlook who appeared like he needed solitude more than I needed to view the Islands.  On the way down, my mind drifted around to several topics, but seemed to land mostly on memories of when I coached football.  Coaching those boys years ago was an absolute joy, well, at least most of the time.  I often miss coaching the sport, but these fall afternoons out hiking or fishing have become too valuable.

I drank a bad-tasting protein shake when I arrived home to the kitchen.  It quelled the hunger long enough to make my favorite September meal, grouse pesto pasta with a fresh ear of corn and a fresh peach.  To me, that's about as good as it gets.  I missed not washing it down with an Alaskan Summer Ale, but the beer has to wait until the beer gut disappears.  About half way through the meal I seriously had this feeling of euphoria.  Maybe it had something to do with the taste, maybe the fond memories associated with the meal, or just because I was so damned hungry, but it felt awfully nice to be blissed out on a Wednesday evening.  Simple minds simple pleasures?

Thirsty Horses

Bare-boned tired.  Sleep has been coming in only five-hour bouts lately.  Too much worrying.  The cardiologist checked out Mom's heart today and found that two arteries leading to her heart were at least 90% clogged.  Close to a heart attack.  I love my mom dearly, but she has been overweight for a long time and has smoked her entire adult life, two biggies in shortening one's time on this planet.  Mom has not had a smoke since I brought her in six days ago.  She's doing O.K. without them.

About ten years ago, my youngest brother, Mike, contracted one of those antibiotic-resistant infections.  His idiot doctors in Auburn screwed up and allowed the infection to get so bad it was attacking his vital organs.  Luckily, we were able to get Mike away from the hacks in Auburn, and move him to the University of Washington Medical Center.  He had reached a point where the heart surgeon addressed our family, letting us know Mike might not make it through surgery.  His heart was in that bad of shape.  Well, Mike did miraculously make it through his ordeal with a new pig valve sewn into his heart.

My brother weighed over 400 pounds when he was admitted.  He lost about 80 pounds while in the hospital.  The doctor was very matter-of-fact, letting Mike know if he didn't lose more weight, his chances of living past his forties were slim.  My little brother was given a second chance.  He did not take advantage of his reprieve.  Five years later, Mike was again admitted to the hospital, weighing over 380 pounds.  He didn't make it the second time, that heart finally gave out on him at age thirty-four..

Tonight, when my brother Tom and I began talking to our mom about how she needed to give up smoking, and how she now had some momentum built up, she started in with the excuses.  Here she is, being given her second chance, and Mom is already laying the groundwork for failure.  It is beyond tough to see someone not take advantage of an opportunity that could help them live longer.  So how much time will we get with her?  What will her remaining years be like?  Who the hell knows.

Let Us Tell You what To Believe

I don't know about you, but I'm getting sick and tired of "authority figures" telling me what to think, what to believe, and what to do, out of fear.

 "God wants you to do as I tell you.  If you don't do as we say, you don't believe in God!"

 "Obama is out to get your guns, only we can save you!"

"The corporations are out to rule the world, the only way to stop them is to follow me!"


 What did F.D.R. say about fear?

Now it's easy to get into that "Back in the good ol' days" mentality.  Don't forget that after this speech our country rounded up the Japanese and threw them into concentration, er, internment camps.  Or that long before this speech our country waged a ruthless, unprovoked war on the original inhabitants of this continent.

What ever happened to thinking for yourself?  What happened to questioning authority?  Is the herd mentality that strong?

Think for yourself.  Do it in your own way.  And not because I told you to.

Precious Time

Pretty big scare today.  My mom called last night, worried that her leg was hurting, swollen, and getting worse.  Took her to the doctor, and when she came out of the exam room she was shaky.  Turns out the doctor wanted her to go straight to the Emergency Room.

So after a battery of tests, it was determined that she has a large blood clot in her leg and a small one in her lung.  The doctor and nurses all seemed optimistic about Mom's recovery with blood thinners.

Although this wasn't quite as scary as Dad's falling off the ladder problems of a few years ago, in the ER waiting room, I was definitely dwelling on just how much time I have left with my parents and how many more trips to the hospital we might be taking in the near future.  Not a pleasant topic for meditation.

My mom, dad, and uncle are all losing their hearing and visibly slowing down both physically and cognitively recently.  I always thought they would become this way in their sixties, but it wasn't until the very late sixties, and now early seventies, that they really are beginning to be like old folks.  So, looking at it from a selfish angle, that gives me only 20 more years, tops, before I'll be constantly saying, "What?!"

Makes me wonder how many more elk hunting trips, how many fishing trips, how many games of pinochle do I get with these folks I love dearly?  After Grandpa, Mike, and Steve, I put a great deal of mental physics into the topic of dying and living.  Hadn't thought about it much lately, but today there was the elephant in the Emergency Room, staring down his trunk at me.

Time.  Priorities.

Are You Our Guide?

The first couple of guiding trips I wasn't so sure this was going to be such a good idea.  The fishing wasn't spectacular, and I felt bad because these folks were paying serious coin.

The women were cool, happy to be out on the water and relaxing in a beautiful setting.  The guys were visibly disappointed in the fishing, and for good reason, fishing was slow.  I felt like I let them down.

 Ed, my friend and new boss did his best to cheer me up over the phone.  It was frustrating to let people down.  In the end, all you can do is your best.  Take the folks to beautiful places, teach them how to cast, and teach them how to catch the fish.  Much is still out of the guide's hands.

The last two trips have been an absolute joy.  Teaching folks how to fly fish, seeing their happy expressions when they catch fish, and their genuine appreciation of the gorgeous surroundings.

It has been a blast getting to meet people from around the country, and even the world.

I've been playing around with the digital camera and making movie/slide shows.  Here's an example of one of the latest attempt:

Why?

This says much..,

A Great Video and a Great Song

This song and video by Canadian Rachelle Van Zanten is now on my all-time favorites list.  Our kids deserve better than what we're handing over to them.

Nowhere Bound

This is the first summer I can remember without a big trip.  For some reason I just didn't feel like it this year.  Granted, money is a little tight and all, but the idea of a long road trip just doesn't do it for me right now.  Maybe I'm just tired of doing the long drives solo.  The flights to the Ukraine and Nome lost their appeal, too.  I've never been much of a homebody, but taking the occasional guiding job and just fishing and hiking around here seems to be enough this year.

 Worked in the garage and in the yard, and just kicked back on the back patio under the dogwood tree, with a nice breeze, and listened to good tunes felt pretty damn good.  I've already fished more than I would have if I'd gone up to the Damdochax this summer, and I've also lost 12 pounds since school ended.  Bizarre.

Guiding?

So I'm doing what I swore I'd never do again.  Guiding.  Stay tuned, it should be interesting.  I hope.

Here's a video/slideshow I put together that has much fishing from the last few years.

How Much Is Enough?

Today's mission:
1)  Fish one lake for large-mouth bass, using a spinning rod and a plastic worm.
2)  Fish another lake for rainbow trout, using a fly rod and one of my own hand-tied flies.
Mission Accomplished.

That sounded really moronic.  That is how much outdoor writing reads nowadays.  Did I fish the lakes?  Yes.  Did I catch fish? Yes.  So what?

I've read books and articles by writers who have reached the stage in their fishing lives where they say it doesn't matter anymore if they catch anything, it's all about being out on the water.  I'm not there just yet.  Close, but still not there.  I still need to catch one fish.  Just need to look at a fish up close and take the hook out of its mouth.  That's what I did today, one fish from each lake.  Had some other fish on and lost them, but caught one tough-looking large-mouth and one elegant rainbow.

The first lake was spent paddling around the lily pads and along the brush-lined shore casting into every likely looking pocket.  There were a couple of bald eagles chattering at each other, and there were many small fish splashing around.  There were a few other folks out fishing but I was lucky enough to get the spots I wanted without any competition or crowding.

The second lake I had all to myself.  It's a small lake, with a single house on the end by the boat launch.  The rest of the lake is pretty wild along the shore line.  Never did see one fish rise, except for the several leaps my rainbow executed on its way to the pontoon.  With the wind, I mostly rowed around with a sinking fly line, cruising proven locations around the lake.  Big clouds, wind, sunshine, all made for a grand day out on the water.

No, I'm not to the don't-need-to-catch-anything stage, but it feels pretty good to be completely satisfied with one fish.

Worth It

Our school is participating in a fantastic program called AVID.  AVID is set up for kids who show academic promise but are from homes that don't have a history of attending college.  This is the second school I've worked at that supports AVID, and I've become a big advocate of the program.

The problem with worthwhile endeavors in education these days is that they usually encounter strong opposition from politicians and some administrators.  Also, teachers with massive egos that don't participate in AVID for some reason seem to greatly resent the positive attention AVID receives.

The three of us who teach the AVID elective classes have encountered such opposition this year.  Many of the better, more level-headed teachers at our school have embraced several of the AVID strategies, and have been tremendously supportive.  But, as Einstein once said, "Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds," and we have.

Such opposition requires tons of energy and time to circumvent, time which would be better spent helping kids.  Oh well, such is the hand dealt.  Today, after some semi-violent opposition, we were granted our one and only college visitation.

Was it ever worth the struggle.  A blue-sky day greeted us as we explored our way around campus and completed many a fun task and challenge.  The smiling faces made it all worthwhile.

Dark Sides

I've posted here several times here how much I love coaching track.  The camaraderie yesterday of nine kids pushing each other in friendly competition to make their way through a tough workout was inspiring.  Great kids and a great day.  I couldn't be more proud.

The flip side was the whole mess with trying to get the Seattle Sonics back in town.  A big part of me wants to tell the NBA and David Stern and his sleezy entourage where to shove it.  I grew up with the Sonics being my favorite team and the NBA my favorite sport.  I was in awe of Wilt Chamberlain and loved Lenny Wilkins when I was in third grade.  Dr. J was the coolest guy on the planet to me when I was a teenager, and Magic and Larry brought a decade of the game played at its very best.

As with many things as I get older, the shady characters behind the scenes have tarnished something I grew up with.  Stern is a slimeball.  Those Oklahoma guys must have set him up really nice for retirement.  You could see and hear Stern's ongoing resentment toward Seattle with his little of-handed remark the other day.  Guess the Seattle group was just a little too honest publicly and not willing to sweeten the pot privately for the Commissioner to bless the Sacramento deal.

Too bad for Lenny, Gary, Freddie, Jack, Spencer, Xavier, Gus, Shawn, Nate, Lonnie, Slick, and everyone else that their accomplishments and contributions are being erased by an egotistical lawyer.  Seems to be a lot of that going around lately.  Thank God there is still middle school track.

Dream Game

Enough of the heavy stuff for a while.  Typical Sloth & Gluttony night of eating silver salmon, watching Deadliest Catch, and putting off grading tests.

With the NBA playoffs going now, I was thinking, what would be the dream game to see?  The Dream Team of 1992 certainly stands out.  What if pro players had always been able to compete in the Olympics?  My two ideal teams would come from 1964 and 1988.  To me, these would have been the two best times in NBA history, with the best players at the best stages of their careers.

Now I just thought about putting up today's best and see how they might stack up.
Here goes:

                   1964                               1988                                2013
1        Oscar Robertson             Magic Johnson                Chris Paul
2        Jerry West                       Michael Jordan               Kobe Bryant
3        Elgin Baylor                    Larry Bird                         Kevin Durant
4        Bill Russell                      Karl Malone                      Lebron James
5        Wilt Chamberlain          Hakeem Olajuwon          Tim Duncan

I changed Bill Russell, Lebron James and Tim Duncan's positions to allow for the best players of each era to be on the court at the same time.

Looking at the match-ups:
At point guard I'd have to go with Magic, but I only was able to see Oscar at the tail end of his career, when I was too young to know what a triple-double was.  Either one could post up Paul all night long.

Shooting guard would have to go to Jordan, but I would love to see he and Kobe in their primes head-to-head.  West was great but not in their league.

Small forward is hard because I don't remember seeing Elgin play.  This one is the closest to a toss-up.

Power forward is a matter of how you view the game.  To me Bill Russell is the greatest team player ever.  It's a team game.  Lebron is absolutely spectacular, but he's never been guarded by anyone approaching Russell's caliber.  Malone was a stud, but he is third here, in my opinion.

Center would have to go to Wilt, but Hakeem would make him earn his money.  I think both would be too athletic for Duncan.

The 1988 team is the over-all tallest of the three, but the other two teams are quicker.  I think the '88 squad has the best back-court.  The '64 team would be the toughest up-front, with the two greatest rebounders of all time.  If I had to bet on outcomes, '88 would finish first, followed by '64, then this year's team.