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How cool is that?
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Van Cliburn and Me
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Van Cliburn died today, he was 78 years old. A classical pianist from Texas, he burst on the scene in 1958 when he won the Tchaikovsky International Competition in Moscow, which briefly made him a pop-cultural celebrity and for which he was given a ticker-tape parade through lower Manhattan.
My acquaintance with Van Cliburn was much less glamorous, but, in its own small way, was nonetheless significant, at least to me. In the late 1970′s, LSU awarded an honorary doctorate degree to Van Cliburn as part of the Spring commencement ceremonies, and my parents hosted a luncheon for him in one of the ballrooms in the LSU Union after the formal graduation ceremony ended. It just so happened that I was hanging out in the Union game room that same afternoon shooting pool and playing pinball. Once I ran out of money, I was leaving to ride my bike home when, lo and behold, I ran into my parents with Van Cliburn. They introduced us, but I had no interest in classical musicians and I’m sure I was not impressed (I’m sure he was equally unimpressed). But I mentioned to my parents that I was out of money and on my way home, at which Van Cliburn reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a ten dollar bill and gave it to me, which established his credentials and made him much more impressive in my eyes. I thanked him profusely, he gave me a big grin in return, and I ran back off to the game room to play more pinball.
End of story.
Rest in peace.
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Today is George Harrison’s Birthday
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Harrison, the youngest of The Beatles, was born February 25, 1943, and would have been 70 years old today. He died of cancer in 2001.
Today in History : February 23, 1945
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On this day in history – February 23, 1945 – six Marines (only four are completely visible) would scale Mount Suribachi and raise the American flag over Iwo Jima. The battle would rage for another month and claim the lives of almost seven thousand American soldiers, including three of the flag raisers: Harlon Block, Mike Strank, and Franklin Sousley.
For further reading on the flag raising and the six men in the photograph, I highly recommend Flags Of Our Fathers by James Bradley.
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Ed Bearss is a National Treasure
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Last night I attended the February meeting of the Baton Rouge Civil War Round Table. The guest speaker was the indominitable Ed Bearss: dean of Civil War scholars, long-time Chief Historian for the National Park Service, and author of numerous award-winning books. Bearss will be 90 years old in June but still has a booming voice, a sharp wit, and an unbelievable photographic memory. He spoke for an hour and a half about the period June-July 1863, when the South’s military fortunes took a turn for the worse, but he also found time to opine on A.P. Hill’s gonorrhea, Martin Sheen’s abysmal portrayal of Robert E. Lee in the movie Gettysburg, pillow-talk between Jefferson Davis and his wife Varina, and the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Joshua Chamberlain’s reputation as the savior of Little Round Top might be the least bit exaggerated. He was also the first person I ever heard use the expression (twice!) “faked out of his jock-strap” in reference to an army commander. Not too shabby for a nonagenerian.
Bearss’ insights as a military historian are no doubt enhanced by his own experiences as a United States Marine in World War Two. On January 2, 1944, on the island of New Britain, Bearss had a close encounter of the worst kind with a Japanese machine gun: “I was on my knees when the first bullet struck. It hit me in my left arm just below the elbow, and … it felt like being hit with a sledgehammer. It jerked me sideways and then I was hit again, another sledgehammer blow to my right shoulder. I fell, both arms shattered, and my helmet slipped down ever my eyes. I couldn’t see. But there were now dead men lying all around me. It seemed a long time that I lay there, in fierce pain, pinned down by Japanese fire. … Unable to stand it any longer and afraid of bleeding to death, I decided to risk getting up; the Japanese gun just in front of me was firing off to the right. As I wiggled around trying to rise, another bullet grazed my butt and another hit my foot.” Bearss was eventually dragged to safety by a corpsman and spent the next 26 months in Navy hospitals recovering from his wounds. He was honorably discharged in March 1946 and hasn’t slowed down since.
Ed Bearss is a national treasure.
Today is Ansel Adams’ Birthday.
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Ansel Adams would have been 101 years old today. Here are a few of my favorites:
Yosemite Valley.
Jeffery Pine.
Snake River and Tetons.
Rose.
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Book Review : With The Old Breed
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I cannot recommend With The Old Breed enough, it should be required reading for every American.
With The Old Breed is the World War Two memoir of E.B. Sledge, who fought with the First Marine Division (the “Old Breed”) at Peleliu and Okinawa. The Sledgehammer, from Mobile, Alabama, volunteered in December 1942, made boot camp in San Diego, and eventually was rotated as a replacement into Company K, Third Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment. Sledge secretly scribbled his contemporaneous impressions of battle in notes that he kept hidden in a copy of the New Testament; decades later, he compiled the notes into a private memoir originally written only for his family, so that they might understand something of his combat experience. But Sledge’s family convinced him to submit the manuscript for publication, and With The Old Breed has since come to be recognized as one of the true classics of military history. Published in 1981, almost forty years after the events described in the book, Sledge’s memoir, along with Robert Leckie’s Helmet For My Pillow, served as the basis for the Tom Hanks / Steven Spielberg / HBO collaboration, The Pacific. Americans tend to have a sanitized view of World War Two – it was the “good” war, we were attacked first, there was no question of our involvement, and when the war was over came the prosperity of The Fifties. But Sledge’s matter-of-fact descriptions of the horrors encountered by the Marines on Peleliu and Okinawa – the fighting and the killing and the fear and the filth and the misery – remind us that regardless of who was “right” and who was “wrong,” the combat infantrymen of World War Two suffered every bit as much as those of later American wars.
“In writing this I am fulfilling an obligation I have long felt to my comrades in the 1st Marine Division, all of whom suffered so much for our country. None came out unscathed. Many gave their lives, many their health, and some their sanity. All who survived will long remember the horror they would rather forget. But they suffered and they did their duty so a sheltered homeland can enjoy the peace that was purchased at such high cost. We owe those Marines a profound debt of gratitude.”
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Today’s Photo
A perfect hook-set.
The Finn Back Fly Revisited
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Back in August, I posted a step-by-step photo tutorial for the Finn Back, which is essentially a bendback fly that substitutes finn coon for the traditional bucktail wing. When I posted a link to the tutorial on Catch Cormier’s Louisiana Fly Fishing website, Kirk Dietrich posted the following reply: “With bendbacks or any fly where the material is covering the hook point, be cautious of the materials becoming a fish guard. I used to use thick bunches of craft fur and after missing some fish realized that the hair was so thick, I couldn’t feel the hook point through it.”
Well, Kirk apparently knew what he was talking about.
On my recent redfishing trip to Venice with Captain Greg Dini, I decided to bust out a chartreuse and white Finn Back and see if I could tempt the reds with one of my own creations. Greg took a look at the fly and made the same observation in the boat that Kirk had made on the internet; Greg said he had no doubt the reds would take the fly, but he was concerned that the wing material might interfere with the hook-set.
It wasn’t long before Greg called out a big red that probably weighed in the mid-twenties, and I managed to drop the Finn Back into the strike zone just in front of the fish. The red aggressively attacked the fly, I strip striked, and the fight was on. There did not appear to be any problems with the hook-up; the fish went on a long run, but I eventually got him turned around and heading – slowly and grudgingly – back to the boat. But as the fish approached the boat, he decided he still had some fight left, and he turned his head as though he was going to make another run.
And in that instant, the fly popped out out of his mouth and he was gone. I turned around and looked at Greg, and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say “I told you so.”
That was the only fish I lost that day to a bad hook-set. Maybe it had nothing to do with the manner in which the fly was tied; but after Kirk’s and Greg’s observations about the fly, and after seeing it with my own two eyes, I don’t think I’ll ever have complete confidence in the Finn Back again.
So, it’s back to the drawing board. In the meantime, I have 10-12 Finn Backs if anyone wants them.
Cheers.
Reds on the Fly : December 2012
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I recently went fly-fishing for redfish in Venice, Louisiana, with Captain Greg Dini. Prior to this trip, my largest redfish on the fly was thirteen (13) pounds.
That was about to change.
I met Greg early in the morning at his home in New Orleans, and we then drove to Venice pulling his East Cape Vantage. When we arrived, Venice was socked in with a ridonkulous fog and visibility was, er, “limited,” so for safety’s sake we had to take our time motoring out to the fishing grounds. The fog was just starting to lift as I mounted the casting platform on the bow of the boat, and the hints of blue sky we could see beyond the fog suggested good things to come.
It turned out to be an EPIC day. Everything, and I mean “everything,” came together. Conditions were perfect: sunny skies with almost no wind. You could easily spot the fish at 60-70 feet, big lumbering submarines lit up like neon red Budweiser signs.
I caught a total of thirteen fish that first day. I’ve had plenty of days when I caught more fish, but never, ever, have I experienced anything like what I experienced that day with Captain Greg. Previously, my largest red on the fly was 13 pounds, but on this day, only two of the fish I caught weighed less than twenty (20) pounds, and by lunchtime we were not even bothering to cast to “small” fish that probably weighed 15-20 pounds. Three of the fish topped thirty (30) pounds: 30 pounds, 33 pounds, and 35 pounds. Previously, I had never had a red go into my backing; on this day, almost every fish I hooked went well into my backing, and one bruiser made three distinct trips into the orange Spectra. Previously, I had never caught a red on a popper; on this day, three huge bulls crashed all over each other racing to my popper before the “winner” absolutely inhaled the fly with a take that left both Greg and me howling. Unfortunately, the hook eventually failed at the bend and I lost that fish, but I will never forget the sight of those three fish thrashing on the surface fighting for rights to the popper.
I knew that Day Two was not going to be so easy. A front was approaching Louisiana and the forecast was for overcast skies and increasing winds, which is exaclty what we got. I brought my son Paul with me, but I cautioned him we were unlikely to duplicate Day One, and I was right. Visibility was extremely tough, and unlike Day One, we often were not seeing the fish until they were right next to the boat.
As it turns out, we only caught three fish on Day Two, but they were beauties: 20 pounds, 30 pounds, and 34 pounds. Three fish = 84 pounds = not too shabby. Paul hooked a monster that almost certainly would have topped 30 pounds; they dueled for ten minutes before Paul leaned a little too hard on the fish and the leader popped.
All in all, it really was an unforgettable two days of fishing, including five fish that topped 30 pounds. Thanks to Captain Greg Dini for putting me on the big fish and spoiling me a little bit. It’s hard to imagine that I might ever have another day like I had on Day One … but hey, a guy can dream, can’t he?
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