What's a weblog? If you remember back to when the web first got up, "blog" wasn't a word yet. It was weblog. At least some of my posts I think of as true to what a "weblog" might be. Indices of personal information. If well written, then I congratulate myself, but the essence is information forming a sort of arc of development over time. A log.
At least once or twice before, I 've written a post reflecting upon a previous post, an attempt to fill in a progression I know about, so it might seem unnecessary to put words on a screen, but I do because it adds value to the blog as a whole. I am never exhaustive of any subject I write about, and by conscious intent refuse to write a lot that I could write, because I choose between what I want to make public, and what I want to keep to myself.
On the 15th, I went to Round Valley Reservoir and fished. I had this in mind for a number of days. Fred happened to inform me a couple of days or so before I fished there of his hooking a nice bass and catching a smaller. I went straightaway for the bass, rather than waiting awhile for the trout. When Jorge and I finished our float on the 9th, I walked along a ridge of stone about a foot wide. That's when the trout desire came to me. Walking rock. The gravel and rock shores. I had felt at the South Branch my affinity with stone. The way walking on it makes me feel heady.
With temperatures in the 90's, who knows how long the wait for trout to come ashore now.
I had a lapse in health. I wrote about the interruption some posts back. Maybe the North Branch post. I won't call it a crisis. How call it that, when I missed not a single day of work? I suffered it on the Barryville float, which must be nearly a dozen posts back, so you easily infer it's not only work I hadn't missed. I had hopes for me at Round Valley, and though that post doesn't say it, those hopes were all but thoroughly dashed on the 15th. And I wasn't so sure I would quite recover, as I fished that length of shoreline, so greatly removed from my former joy. You can tell by that post I didn't give up, but you read the uncertainty, and my discerning judgement simply let that hang over me, rather than to have pulled it over my face as a false mask of despair.
Sure enough, by the 19th, I was all but returned to normal. And since the 22nd, I have no doubt all is fine.
At least once or twice before, I 've written a post reflecting upon a previous post, an attempt to fill in a progression I know about, so it might seem unnecessary to put words on a screen, but I do because it adds value to the blog as a whole. I am never exhaustive of any subject I write about, and by conscious intent refuse to write a lot that I could write, because I choose between what I want to make public, and what I want to keep to myself.
On the 15th, I went to Round Valley Reservoir and fished. I had this in mind for a number of days. Fred happened to inform me a couple of days or so before I fished there of his hooking a nice bass and catching a smaller. I went straightaway for the bass, rather than waiting awhile for the trout. When Jorge and I finished our float on the 9th, I walked along a ridge of stone about a foot wide. That's when the trout desire came to me. Walking rock. The gravel and rock shores. I had felt at the South Branch my affinity with stone. The way walking on it makes me feel heady.
With temperatures in the 90's, who knows how long the wait for trout to come ashore now.
I had a lapse in health. I wrote about the interruption some posts back. Maybe the North Branch post. I won't call it a crisis. How call it that, when I missed not a single day of work? I suffered it on the Barryville float, which must be nearly a dozen posts back, so you easily infer it's not only work I hadn't missed. I had hopes for me at Round Valley, and though that post doesn't say it, those hopes were all but thoroughly dashed on the 15th. And I wasn't so sure I would quite recover, as I fished that length of shoreline, so greatly removed from my former joy. You can tell by that post I didn't give up, but you read the uncertainty, and my discerning judgement simply let that hang over me, rather than to have pulled it over my face as a false mask of despair.
Sure enough, by the 19th, I was all but returned to normal. And since the 22nd, I have no doubt all is fine.
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