DEI

 A lack of diversity in nature often leads to unintended and sometimes disastrous consequences. In healthy ecosystems, a balance between predator and prey keeps everything in check. But today, diversity is under attack—driven by fear and misunderstanding.

Nature offers countless warnings. Streets once lined exclusively with Elm trees were devastated by Dutch Elm disease due to monoculture planting. Rainbow trout are now vulnerable to whirling disease, a result of limited genetic diversity. Ash trees are dying off rapidly because of an invasive insect, with little resistance across the uniform population.

These are just a few examples. When we strip diversity from the equation—whether in nature or elsewhere—we weaken the system, leaving it fragile and exposed.

Before we Go Fishing this Season a Few Thoughts

 Time and time again, history teaches lessons soon forgotten. Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

The cycle of ignorance repeats itself due to a growing lack of interest in what truly matters. People are glued to their screens, living vicariously through posts and rumors spread on social media. In this digital age, facts are blurred, misrepresented, and twisted, while truth becomes the ultimate casualty.

There is an old adage: “A lie will travel halfway around the world before the truth puts its shoes on.” This has never been truer than in today’s fast-paced world of misinformation. It is our responsibility to become fact-checkers, to question before we accept, and to verify before we share.

Develop the skill of critical thinking. Learn to analyze, question, and seek the truth beyond the noise. In a time when deception is rampant, the ability to think critically is not just a skill—it is a necessity.

Happy Saint Patricks Day the fishing season and good weather is coming soon. 

OBTW don't say saint paddy, that's not correct Paddy is a derogatory name. 

Take This Anyway You Want

The wind howled through the empty streets, rattling broken signs and sending leaves scuttling along the cracked pavement. Darkness loomed over the city, not just from the storm clouds that stretched endlessly across the sky, but from the heaviness that had settled in the hearts of its people. Despair clung to every doorstep, every alley, every dimly lit window.

For months, everything had unraveled. Businesses shuttered, families fractured, hope faded. It seemed as though nothing good could ever take root in such barren times. And then, just as the weight of the world threatened to crush what little remained, a miracle arrived.

It wasn’t loud, nor did it announce itself with great fanfare. It was a whisper on the wind, a small yet undeniable shift in the air. A child’s laughter broke through the silence—clear, unburdened, full of something long forgotten: hope. People turned toward the sound, drawn as if by instinct. A young girl stood on the corner, her tattered coat barely warding off the chill, yet she smiled as she held out a candle, its flame unwavering despite the gusts that threatened to snuff it out.

One by one, people approached. Some knelt beside her, shielding the fragile light from the wind. Others produced their own candles, wicks catching the flame, passing it from one hand to the next. The street, once bathed in shadows, began to glow with a golden warmth. Faces that had been lined with worry softened, voices hushed in quiet reverence.

Word spread. Soon, across the city, tiny flames flickered in windows, on doorsteps, in the hands of those who had nearly forgotten what it meant to believe in something better. It was not a grand rescue, not an immediate solution to the troubles that plagued them, but it was something. A beginning. A little glimmer of hope.

And sometimes, that was all that was needed.

The Last Breath

I always thought clean air and clean water were a birthright. My delusional dream of the great outdoors. Back in the days of leaded gasoline, the problems were just below the surface. The needs of industrial America were slowly tearing at that dream. Today, that dream is slowly turning into a nightmare.

I used to hike these hills with my father. Back then, the trees were thick, the rivers clear, and the air crisp. He’d shake his head at the smokestacks on the horizon and say, “They’ll take everything if we let them.”

Turns out, we let them.

The companies swore they’d changed. Cleaner fuels, better regulations, sustainability reports full of glossy pictures of blue skies and happy children. But it was all a shell game. They planted a few trees while clear-cutting forests overseas. They scrubbed their smokestacks while dumping waste into rivers. They bought out scientists, buried studies, lobbied for loopholes. And we kept buying their lies, right up until the air was too thick to breathe.

Now, I step outside and taste metal on my tongue. The sun struggles through a layer of haze, its light filtered by decades of unchecked ambition. A commercial blares from a passing electric bus, boasting about “a greener future.” I cough into my sleeve and keep walking past the latest refinery “expansion project.”

They tell us they’re fixing it. They always say that. Meanwhile, their profits soar, their CEOs collect bonuses, and their waste keeps piling up. The world didn’t have to end this way. But when the choice was between the planet and the bottom line, we all know which one they chose.

The great outdoors? It was never theirs to sell. But they sold it anyway.

And now, we’re the ones paying the price. 

The Fool’s Quest: A Fly Fisher’s Tale

Peering into the murky waters, I knew I was on a fool’s quest. But some quests are worth the folly. I had been cooped up too long, and desperation for some outdoor adventure had pushed me out the door. So, with my fly rod in one hand and a box of carefully selected flies in the other, I headed to a local fishing hotspot.

Now, “hotspot” is a term that should always be taken with a grain of salt. To some, it means an area teeming with fish, a surefire place to land a catch. To others—myself included—it just means a place where hopeful anglers gather to tell stories, soak up the scenery, and occasionally throw a line in the water.

As I rigged up my rod, I could feel the weight of the stares. There were two types of fishermen present: the seasoned locals, who had long since given up on any illusions of privacy, and the newcomers to Florida, who were still getting used to fishing in a state where nearly everything in the water has teeth. They all watched with varying levels of amusement and confusion as I tied on my fly.

Then came the confrontation on the floating dock. An “expert” emerged, his presence announced by the unmistakable twang of a Midwestern drawl. Arms crossed, he took a long, skeptical look at my setup before offering his expert opinion.

“I’ve never seen anyone catch fish with that thing,” he said, nodding toward my fly rod like I had just pulled out a fencing foil instead of fishing gear.

I smiled, waiting for the inevitable follow-up. He did not disappoint.

“I got an extra pole here if you want,” he added, as if rescuing me from my own ignorance.

Ah, the sweet sting of unsolicited advice. I’ve learned that in the world of fishing, there’s always someone eager to correct you—especially if you don’t have a cooler full of fish to prove them wrong. I could have explained that I wasn’t out here to fill a freezer. I could have tried to enlighten him on the artistry of fly fishing, the rhythm of the cast, the satisfaction of placing a fly exactly where you want it.

But I knew it wouldn’t matter. To him, fishing was a numbers game. The only measure of success was what you dragged onto the dock. A day spent fishing without a catch was, in his mind, a wasted effort.

I just smiled, nodded, and declined his offer. He didn’t get it, and that was fine. Some people never will. Because for me, fishing has never been just about the catching. It’s about the pursuit, the stillness, the quiet thrill of watching the line dance on the water. It’s about stepping away from the noise of life and embracing the simple pleasure of waiting.

So I stood there, casting into the murky water, knowing full well that the fish might win today. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Snuck Out to .....

I haven't fished since late winter 2021, sadly so, the best laid plans can go astray. Blame the red tide, my inherent fear of alligators and the high UV index. So today on a whim I packed some of the basics and went casting. No really, fishing involves more planning and investigation. My neighbor likes to go to his secret spot and do some crittering.  Crittering as defined by Doug is anything other than fly fishing for a salmonid, crittering involves live  dare I say it BAIT.

I have to admit I was out of place with my 6 Wt 8 footer, and streamer taper line. Lucky for me the tide was wrong and the sun was in full UV blazing. So after a few fish less cast, I departed.

Part 2 of this saga later this week 

This has Been Stuck in my Craw for Sometime!

The Decline of Expertise and the Rise of Know-It-Alls

When I was younger, research was an adventure. If I had an assignment, I’d trek through the dense jungles of the encyclopedia, navigate the treacherous peaks of the dictionary, and—if I was feeling particularly daring—consult an actual expert, like a teacher or librarian. It was hard work, but at least I knew I wasn’t basing my essay on the wild theories of some guy named BigJim78 on Twitter.

Today, research consists of typing a question into Google, clicking the first link (which may or may not be an ad), and—if one is feeling especially academic—watching a two-minute TikTok summarizing the topic. Who needs experts when you have influencers explaining quantum physics in 30 seconds, usually while dancing?

The problem isn’t just that people are getting their facts wrong; it’s that they’re so sure they’re right. A person who spent ten years getting a Ph.D. in epidemiology will cautiously say, “The data suggests…” while Gary from Facebook—whose last formal education was a mandatory high school health class—will confidently declare, “Nah, that’s all fake.” And somehow, Gary wins the argument.

It’s not just science. History is now rewritten daily by people who skimmed a meme and suddenly believe they know the real story. “Actually, the pyramids were built by aliens.” Sure, Bob. And I suppose Napoleon was just a really enthusiastic cosplayer.

The decline of expertise has consequences. We now live in a world where people would rather trust a YouTube deep dive than an actual scientist, where every conversation has a self-proclaimed expert, and where asking, “Are you sure about that?” is considered an act of war.

So, what’s the solution? Maybe we start small—like remembering that just because something has a lot of likes doesn’t make it true. Or that knowing a little about something doesn’t mean knowing everything. And most importantly, let’s agree that when it comes to life-and-death matters, we should probably listen to the people with actual degrees, not the guy who thinks Wikipedia is “too biased.”

And now I spit that out, back to fishing!