Casting Flies And So Much More

“There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot.” ~Aldo Leopold

My husband is one who cannot live without wild things.

He writes about it in his new book.

Here is a description. Take a look inside...

Forging a bond with rugged places and wild creatures, casting to brook trout, or reflecting on the forces that compel people to fly fish, Chad Hanson proves himself a formidable guide. In prose that is wise and observant, he brings us stories of travel, adventure, and concern for the state of the environment. Hanson climbs to the tops of peaks, hikes to the bottoms of canyons, and finds himself lost in snow at high elevation terrain that is more than geographic and just as exhilarating. Trout Streams of the Heart offers nature lovers, anglers and non-fishers alike, a provocative foray into our relationship with the natural world.

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I've mentioned C in some of my posts. You know a little bit about him, but did you know he is my everything? I could make a list of all the things he is. But, I won't. One word can describe him to the max. Humble. Aside from being sweeter than pie, he is kind and talented and interesting and so much fun. We go way back. The adventures never end, the laughter is frequent and living with a poet with eyes the color of a Wyoming sky is something I am grateful for every. single. day.

Trout Streams of the Heart is available through Amazon or any local bookstore.

 

 

In every walk with nature

...one receives far more than he seeks. ~John Muir

 

A few more images from my trip to the Central Coast.

I took many walks around the neighborhood where my parents live, and hiked in the canyon behind their house. In the past I've seen deer, coyotes and a fox while exploring creekside. This time, the canyon was empty.

For three days straight it poured with rain. I didn't even mind it.

 

Highway 1 Revisited

 

I'm going to see the folks I dig

I'll even kiss a sunset pig

California I'm coming home ~ Joni Mitchell From the song "California"

Heading up the coast on Pacific Coast Highway, we immediately turn right at Topanga Canyon. It's tradition. Before our trip, I daydreamed about climbing the winding road that leads to a pocket above Malibu with a rugged but lush forest full of hawks and wildlife and houses hanging off the mountain. Long haired, barefoot hippie girls sit under a tree outside the trading post, sharing an avocado sandwich and laughing while a man with a pony tail in harem pants lingers by the side of the road with an exotic parrot on his shoulder. There he is. We've seen him before. It's a typical sunshiny day in the canyon, and the vibe is exactly what you'd expect. We browse my favorite shop and I snag a long sleeved prussian blue T shirt. It's tradition. This one reads "Mystical & Magical Mermaid. Topanga Canyon, California".

We're on our way to visit my folks who live about three hours north of there. We stay with them every spring break. It's tradition.

I crane my neck driving through Zuma Beach, hoping to spot a porpoise. We jabber about porpoises and dolphins and what's the difference. I scan the blue gray water for shark fins, but only see an occasional boat, a stand up paddler or two and a group of black wetsuits waiting for the perfect wave.

Santa Barbara is a beautiful sight, all Riviera looking, with their white Spanish mansions on the hill and terra cotta tiled roofs. It's a neighborhood rule. All houses have to look the same. All built with the same construction idea. Aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

We spend the next few days hiking the Irish hills, taking turkey walks and sipping mochas on the patio at Linnea's. Phoenix bookstore is packed and stacked to the ceiling with old books and I leave C to wallow in all his glory while I trot next door to the record store to look for the new Joni Mitchell box set. At Central Coast Surfboards, we visit with the kids who remember us as that couple from Wyoming.

As always, we spend a day at Morro Bay with my folks, walking the boardwalk. It's tradition. There are so many sea birds pecking on the shore, and frolicking sea otters, twirling around in the bay. At noon we enjoy lunch at an outdoor patio cafe while seagulls sit patiently waiting for us to leave.

In my parents' house, there is laughter and music and long conversations. In my parents' house it's comfortable and quiet and you can be yourself.

*************************************************************************************************************************** I'm sitting at LAX waiting for our flight to Denver that's been delayed due to a blizzard. We were just walking the Malibu Pier two hours ago, checking out the surfers. A warm California day. And now, it's back to reality. The reality of where we live. Where we're headed. To the North country. The Rocky Mountains. SNOW. So we wait. And wait. For the go ahead on the sketchy flight out of here. You know me. I'm a nervous wreck. But, I've got C by my side. He holds my hand and teases me and makes me smile. That, too, is tradition.

 

Tracks and an owl nest

An icy blue winter day sprayed in sunlight, complete with tracks belonging to rabbits, squirrels, and deer. Up high in a spruce tree, two great horned owls, soft pale grey in color, have stolen a nest from a red tailed hawk and made it their own. Baby owlet heads will appear soon, along with more action, coming and going, and perhaps a better image of these feathered beauties will be possible.

I am teased about using my iPad as my only camera. It works for most occasions, but this is the result of my owl nest as I zoomed in to the max. Can you see their nest? Sure you can! Two sets of ear like tufts are in there too. I saw them...with binoculars.

Maybe it's time to invest in a real camera. Maybe the teasing will stop.

But, what fun is that?