Mmmm...good!

A good cup of coffee can bring such pleasure. Now, I'm not a hard core fanatic...I don't think at least...since I haven't yet roasted my own beans; but, I know a good cup from a watery hack when I see/taste it.

Luckily for us, the Italians came up with pressurized espresso. So magical. The little crema at the top. Add a little raw sugar and it's just like the darkest chocolate. I can't get enough. Of course when my hands are twitching and I get the 'jimmy legs' in bed, there are issues. But, it can be pure bliss.

Of course the opposite is true. When you order espresso from a large chain with a mermaid as it's symbol, things go bad...fast. First, there is never any crema...what the heck?? Is something wrong with the machine? Do they not know how to roast the beans? And usually it is barely warm. And if you order it 'for here' to get a little foofy cup, they don't pre-heat it...!? What planet are they on, Uranus?

So, to be clear, I like coffee strong and dark. No sugar [except for the aforementioned, espresso]. I don't want to ever see my cup in any form when I look into it. I don't want to see the sides, and if I see the bottom, I will assume you've given me tea.

How long is it till later?

This morning, pre-dawn, I was in the living room with my 3 kids. They have all decided that even with a time change, it is still important to get up before there is light, birds chirping, or coffee brewed. Anyway, we were out in the living room and inevitably, I will be asked to get up off the couch I am planted in to do something, get something, or make something.

This morning, like most mornings, where I am faced with this dilemma, I say something brilliant like, "I can do that a little later." Later, always meaning, 'sometime in the future when my buttocks is not stuck to this couch.'

This morning, though...after a few minutes of future had become past, my son posed a deeply profound question to me, "Daddy, how long is it till later?" I looked at him realizing many things: he is more patient than I thought; his sense of time is improving; he cares deeply about setting up his online world of Build-a-Bear [which had started all this in the first place]; being a 'daddy' here is unplugging myself from the couch and getting into his world for a few minutes.

This morning was great, because for a few minutes, I was "Daddy", a daddy who could be a part of my son's life and do something meaningful to him.

Leaky Waders

It's kinda lame when you wake up at 4:00 AM full of anticipation to catch some trout...drive a couple hours on adrenaline and coffee to find a lake you've never fished, but heard good rumors about...pay to fish, freeze your caboodle off gearing and rigging up...pick out the perfect fly to launch into still water...hike through spiky planted brush...which digs into your flesh and tears it's share off as an offering...wade slowly into the crisp 56 degree water...pull out some line to cast as a BREEZE starts to ruffle up the water...then realize, at what is still 0-dark early, that you have leaky waders.

THE fishing hole

I couldn't wait too long to continue from my last post. As much as I may have taken some time to think about the river and spirituality, I was there to catch some fish.

That was the main reason to drive 5 hours [6 if I was legal] and eat my $1.95 breakfast at Kmart in Bishop...catching FISH. Trout to be specific; Rainbow Trout to be particular.

So, after getting skunked at the Lower Owens, driving an additional 40 minutes to the Upper Owens and trudging through knee high snow, I was at the river. It was beautiful.

This part of California is awesome in the winter. Looking west, rising out of the valley were the Sierra Nevada's, COVERED with snow this year. There are also some mountains to the east, and I'm lame; I don't know what they are called. But, this year even they had a ton of snow.

The Owens, just cuts through the valley. Turns all over the place, kinda meandering. The air was fairly butt-cold [at least for a surfer from So Cal]. A crisp 30 degrees with a slight breeze. The sun was out and as I stepped carefully towards the river I saw a trout rising. Now after getting skunked for a couple hours, my heart was doing palpitations seeing a trout rise.

Common sense told me that THIS IS WINTER. I should be nymphing, with like size 20 [freaky small for the non-fishing folk] little zebra midges, trailing behind something else. But, here was a trout rising.

So, even though my pole was rigged, I cut it all off and stuck on a dry fly, caddis something. On the fourth cast, BAM. Fish on. So good. About a 10 inch wild Rainbow. At least as wild as they get here. Beautiful colors. A perfect moment.

I made a few more casts [read: 30 minutes] as I rounded the next bend and saw a big turn in the river. The way the water hit the turn, it pushed left with gravity, but pushed an eddy to the right as well. It was a fairly large pool, maybe 20X20. What I saw next, seemed like it should be happening to John Gierach or something. Fish rising. EVERYWHERE.

I thought I wasn't seeing what I was seeing. Pockets of fish popping up all over the hole. In the seams, out of the seams, along the banks, in the middle, EVERYWHERE.

So, I just started casting...and catching. In the next couple hours I landed 10 bows all between 8-12 inches. It was magical. To take in my surroundings, and feel like I actually knew what I was doing. It was total Mastercard. I wasn't sure I deserved it, but I felt BLESSED. Fishing doesn't get this good for me or most people I know. I felt humbled and special. I wanted to put it all in a package.

I caught a few more, but felt greedy. I was hoarding. What made the time even better, was actually calling my buddy over and sharing the fun. It's also why, between me and him, it will always be known as THE fishing hole.

The River....

I recently got to get on/in the Upper Owens River near Mammoth Lakes, CA. It was cold. There was 3-4 feet of snow along the highway and I was knee-highing my way to the water through soft snow. I also had to negotiate over a barbwire fence with my waders. Not a time for sissies or for slip-ups.

Actually, to back it up a bit, I had started fishing the Lower Owens River, where it comes out of Lake Crowley, near Bishop. But, the water was flowing too fast...there was too much of it moving. The fish were 'off' or maybe I just sucked. Nothing was biting.

As I was standing in the water though, I could feel it moving around me. It could not be stopped. There was a certain pressure I had to keep using in my legs, just to make any progress as I made my way up the river. Of course if I fell on my butt, I would just be flowing with the river. I'd also probably drown as my waders filled like a water balloon. A totally heroic way to go for sure. [Gravemarker: He left like he came...in a water-filled sack].

I started getting all thoughtful about it though...the flow; the stream. The Bible teaches that if we know Jesus, living water will fill me and flow out of me and that it cannot be stopped. It is moving in and around me. It is full of life. I can try to stand up against it, but that takes pressure. In a good way, if I just flow with it, I get carried along. I may not know what is around the next bend, but I am flowing with the river. It was a cool thought.

Then, my overwhelming frustration at being mocked by fish got the better of me. I needed to get somewhere else. That is when I jumped in the car and drove another 40 minutes to the Upper O. It was another experience entirely, but I will save that for next time.

Dream...

I’m not sure where to really start with this, so I will just jump in. I [Kyle] had a dream a couple years back that has really clarified my vision for reaching college students but have felt weird to share it for one reason or another.
In my dream, I was at a table with a large number [50 or more] college students. On the table was the most incredible feast you could imagine. Everything you would ever want to eat was on the table and we were having such a great time eating, laughing and gorging on this stuff.
After awhile, I stopped focusing on the table and looked around. This was easy since we were in a ‘room’ that had glass walls. We were in the middle of a campus surrounded by students, and again, I could see them all because our room was glass.
What I saw gives me chills to think about. Students wandering around. Emaciated students. Each one looked like they were from a concentration camp. Starving. But, not just that, they had no eyes. Just flesh covering where their eyes should be. Blind. Some students were kind of walking around, but some had fallen and some were apparently dead.
I remember feeling all kinds of things. Grateful that they couldn’t see us partying. Shocked at the discrepency between how they were living and how we [in the room] were living.
In the dream I tried getting the attention of the students I was with. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get them to look away from the feast.
The dream ended with me grabbing a chair to break the glass.
There is so much for me to learn and remember from that dream. Just a few things include: -remembering how good we have it. We have so much when we have a relationship with God. It is literally a feast.
-we are called to break the glass. Get our eyes off each other, isolating ourselves from others and invite them into the feast.
-people are lost, starving, and blind. They are dying without Christ. They don’t even know it. Living like that is normal to them…they don’t see what they are missing.
-I am so grateful to be included in God’s plan to invite others to feast with Him. I can still remember what it feels like to be ‘outside’…and am thankful for the faith it took for a fellow student to invite me to the banquet table.

My first post

Well, I will finally breakout and write something. I feel pressure to make it witty or thought provoking...though I know it won't be.

I've been thinking lately how much I am missing my time in the river. I've surfed a bit lately, but I haven't fished the Fall yet. I'm sure the big browns are there, especially in the Owens. Too busy. Busy-ness seems to jack things up. But, the trees are changing colors and the river keeps moving.

If anyone reads this, you probably don't fish. But, there's nothing quite like tempting a fish to the surface with a bit of deer hair tied to look like a bug. Seeing it rush onto the fly like it was starving. Feeling the bang on the rod. Trying not to freak as you set the hook.

Then the chase is on....

Hopefully, I can get up to the mountains soon.