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Spey Clave 08 |
May 19, 2008 |
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Honestly I’ve never been sure if I’m a “clave” kinda guy. I’m not sure why, I mean watching really good casters and checking out cool rods should be something I’m into. It might be the term “Clave” itself. It somehow gave me the feeling that instead of being about fishing with spey rods it was about casting farther than the next guy and showing up with the scotch that was the hardest to pronounce and the most “challenging” to drink.
I like bourbon and catching chromers.
HOWEVER, several very cool dudes told me I should come this year, and I realized that if they were going it couldn’t be all bad, for god sakes, if Dan Marshal was gonna be there you can be damn sure there will be cold beer at least.
So, Sandy here I come. First stop was to the mechanic to get the weird noise my truck is making fixed. He wasn’t able to figure it out but assured me that when it got really bad and then broke he would know.
It got worse after about an hour of driving, and then got down right scary, I stopped overnight in Astoria and borrowed a car for the rest of the trip.
So Saturday morning, bright and early equipped with a dependable and economical imported auto, a gazetteer and some directions scrawled on a napkin I was back on the road.
The directions were wrong, the gazetteer sucked, the park was on the page break and it was 800 degrees out. There was an ant nest in the car, an ant got in my ear. Traffic was hell and it occurred to me that maybe my mistake wasn’t going to the clave; it was leaving forks for any reason at all. I gave up on maps all together and decided to switch to “freestyle navigation”.
I was hot and pissed at the map and at Gresham and at the fact I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to a goddamn Clave anyway. I found the F’er, and they wouldn’t let me in with my dog.
Turns out I like my dog better than I like spey claves.
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