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Dan Fallon's World of Fly fishing

Column nr. 9, 2012  

Fall 2012 Orange Leaves &
Highly Educated Trout

  Burnt Fall color’s under foot as I carefully Attempt to make the least noise possible and sneak up on northern California wild trout now weary and quite used to various enticements...... Fly fisher’s revel in this end of season peace and quiet, no one else around as the morning air cuts through layers and chills the bones. A time when I spend at least twenty minutes just watching and observing now shallow creeks ands streams winding down. Suddenly Mosquitoes explode and a healthy Brook Trout rises and gobbles my black & white imitation and the Dance begins..... Best hopes usually are the box of Streamer’s and extreme stealth technique’s, staying as invisible as possible only path to success.

Fall sky Yosemite Park 2012

  In the past hard lesson’s learned are slowly recalled as I slowly wade my favorite Yosemite National Park Creek. Several small trout scramble and hide as my shadow moves into their liquid existence... Smells of early Fall consume me as the rich burnt orange leaves crack under foot, great to be alive and breathing the cool air in a symphony of sensory delights! This time of year sitting, watching drinking in season change is mesmerizing like reliving a perfect dream over and over. My 4 weight Bamboo is barely bothered when a small Brooky takes the purple mini Wolly Bugger and I enjoy my wrist feeling his wildness before taking the Barbless hook out carefully and safely releasing him back into the cold snow pack waters that grace this natural wonder of a Trout repository.

Fall river wild trout

  I recall many splendid Fall Fly excursions on the East Coast of the United States in places like up State New York, Hamburg near Fort Erie close to Niagra Falls. Small Pennsylvania creeks splattered with bright fall leaves riding gentle currents. West Coast America not quite the same feeling, not as cold in the morning though fall colors just as bright. Lack of any other humans is for me the best aspect of the changing seasons as I sneak and crawl through the endless creeks and streams that wind through America’s premier natural wonder. Millions of park visitors are history and its just me and a few Bears looking for warm winter quarters after chasing wild trout all day.

Pitt River 2012

  No matter where you live Pilgrim’s Fall can be a wonderful just before the ugly holidays’s respite before the In Law’s invade your sanctuary! Of course as I mention repeatedly lack of other humans may be the best aspect of Fall Fly Fishing. Even those curb side spots beat to death can be productive when everyone else goes home. I love to cruse my favorite rivers, creeks, streams, from Yosemite all the way north to the Mount Shasta area where I have lived more then once. Places like Hat Creek, Fall River, Pitt River are almost perfect for serious Dry Fly enthusiasts. Basic assortment will do the trick, time for getting your Streamer casting sharpened. I try and quickly make the adjustment to extra weight and awkward casting feel Streamers present. After you have spent the season throwing tiny bugs, this simple adjustment can cause you to loose accuracy as all streamers are awkward at best!

Mount Shasta northern calif sunset 2012

  End of season for me is a fine time to begin thinking of next years fly adventure’s and evaluating all equipment while rethinking all the mistakes I made in th past season! Little things like never having enough Tippet material or forgetting to buy a new line cleaning kit, stupid things like that. More then anything I get nostalgic and very graceful to be able to still wade fast rivers and play this game that has been passion since childhood. Thoughts of being happy to be above ground and breathing, laughing and catching, releasing as many wild fish as the Lord Of Lords will allow. Peace my Fly Brother’s and Sister’s. Peace.



Contact John Wilson at www.lakemarie.com

Written by Dan Fallon 2012
For Dan Fallon's earlier and later columns;
visit the
table of contents












© Phil Frank 2002

Illustrated By Phil Frank,
San Francisco Chronicle Cartoonist, creator of "Farley"

  It has been an action packed non stop orgy of Alaskan remote fly nirvana for last seven days.... Our beloved Supreme Court Justice and his most demented crew, Dali Lama, Jim Ferguson (Digital Radio Zaar) Keith Richards, and the Leader of what’s left of the once rich, safe, reckless Free World have caught and released countless fat Trout, King Salmon, Char’s and occasional Dolly’s. The Black Messiah has calmed down considerably in lieu of his numerous bout’s of Historic Mimicry psychedelically induced by his fly fishing Mate’s!!!! Quill’s cell phones are blowing up as Drake his main Butler, Personal Assistant and Honcho of Quill’s Northern Ireland Castle Raven’s Haven calls! The United States Supreme Court has been calling for day’s trying to get Quill’s Top Secret Hot Line cell number which he changes every thirty days or less as the old General’s security these days is top priority. In Quill’s world now that this trip is almost over. The Supreme Court is next up and then its off to Russia for another attempt at putting the latest Bullshit Russian Pricktator to sleep forever....... It’s 4am and everyone other then the UnHoly Dali Lama and General Quill are warming their hands by the dying fire and sipping Black China Tea.

"Dali my main Spirit Keeper starting to really miss my little Cat Timba. He must be sound a sleep and dreaming of Mice and Men don’t you think Mr. Hashish?"

"Timba lives for sounds of your voice, he is as nuts about you. Lets speak of you and me my dear friend. Your letting me become an important member of your inner circle and then finding a way for me to make truck loads of Cash as well! Ahhh, mortal life is about as dependable as the American Economy. I know what a pain in the ass I’m, lets face it your Marine Buddy General Parker is over my painintheassnessss! Thank you my friend."

"You have brought balance and spiritual wholeness to me Dali baby. My next two hurdle’s will be first resolve the Supreme Court metal straight jacket I been wearing up or down? Then it’s that jerk off Pricktator Putang and his strangle hold on Russia, the Bear needs to be released from his Stalinistic Death Grip (SDG).This time Duke Parker and me will make fucking sure his time has passed and him with it, can’t fuck up this time, no mistakes or my International Assassin status will evaporate. Parker has the killer remote Drone shit lined up he says."

"You have already forgotten the Demonic Conspiracy out to put your ancient ass six feet under and the Sharon Stone affair is not over yet either! Untidy loose ends indeed mortal maniac."

"Ok, wise ass Lamastein, then you roll out a tasty little Soul/Karma cleaning invocation ditty for me, uhhuhm sha dooby, boom shak a lacka, boom shak ala Jim Morrison rules all Galaxies."

"In the name of all dead and alive Harmonica Blowing/ Young Pussy Eating/Hard Playing Drug Taking Alpha Dawgggg’s (HBYPEHPDTAD). Let the universal energy and the power of huge Tit’s and Blond Pussy fill your ragged heart with endless gigs and taking no fucking prisoners ever Baby!!! And in the name of all that is nasty, sticky, wet, tight and under 25 Blond, let this old man have his mother fucking way till his dying day."

"Now, that’s what I’m talking bout!!!! Hit this Bong my friend, San Francisco Hash laced Planit Pluto, Polio Wheel Chair Number Six Baby! (SFHLPPPWCNSB) Oh, yeah, hold that hit UnHoly Man... Did you just see that figure jump over the fire coals?"

"Yes, it looked like one of your music friends?"

  Suddenly the camp fire explodes in pure psychedelic Haight Street San Francisco circa 1967 colors. A Group of ghosts slowly appears led by none other then old Pigpen the first Grateful Dead front man screaming a medley of Primal Hippy Soul Stealing Hits (PHSSH) starting with the classic killer, " Sun rises in the East and it sets in the West".


"Man, I Loves me some Trout fishing for sure! Told Janis Joplin back when she was my girlfriend I would teach her how to fool fish, she was little more interested in Southern Comfort I’m feared. Quill, you and I go back to early sixties Buddy, man! love your Harp playing last few years, soulful like Aretha was even before her hit, "Respect". Man. Grab your Mississippi Tin Sandwich(MTS-BABY!!) in the key of low ass G and lets get into "Truckin" One Two Three, Truckin like the Do Dah Man, Truckin any way we can, just keep on Truckin across this Desolate Land..."

"Whow Pig, Dude who else you brought with you to my remote deep Alaska dying camp fire?"

"Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jimmy Morrison, Freddy King and your old running mate Mike Bloomfield, hey Bloomfield come on man Quill knows all your songs. Pick up on Bloomies big smash hit, "I got a sweet little Angel"

"Quill long time no play man. I remember you always hanging round with your younger brother back stage playing that fucking Harp and smoking the best shit, give me that fucking Bong before one note falls on the killer forest floor, man, Alaska is a fucking trip Dude! Did you see that hugefied Grizzly Bear eating Salmon over there!"

"Man, I do remember hanging with you back stage at the Avalon with fucking Santana, Muddy Waters in that long fucking Fillmore West Jam Buddy! Buddy Guy and Mick Jagger with Charlie Watts, what a fucking nite that was Mr. Supreme Court! Your fucking Harp work was mystical and moved Muddy to let you roll long into his solo shit remember old man, you still got the shit down below ? I hear your old Band "Stiff Nipples’ have rented a big ass luxury Rehearsal Villa in Monte Carlo ala Rolling Stones legendary " Exile on Main Street while Keith waited to hear about his drug bust. Exile on Main Street classic. That nite was way off the hook! The Mike Bloomfield Magic be Mojofying that nite fo sure! Come on man, lets jump into some nasty/funky old school San Francisco Blues Boys. Santana’s Blusey ass smash, " Got A Black Magic Woman."

"Oh yeah, please man hit this mean shit while I warm up this brand new Harp from Hohner... Mike Bloomfield man I do miss the sound of your voice my friend, " I got a sweeet little Angel, you should see her when she spreads her wings..."

"Excuse me Mr. Pigpen may I ask you a question oh Hippy Lord of Lord’s?"

"Dali Friggin Lama, you go Man!"

"Back in the day, do you recall how many times Quill gobbled LSD, was found in the company of extremely loose #10 young things and so forth! Take us back to the Golden Hippy Time Capsule (GHTC)"


"I remember Quill and his crew all connected, running round in these bad ass Hot Rods and killer bikes. Quill used to spend all his time from 11pm till early morn at either the Fillmore West or the legendary San Francisco hard core hard rocking Mabuhi Gardens on Broadway run by the ignominious Dirk Dirkson. Dirkson hosted a serious hot menu of Bands like the Tubes and Blondy and the incomparable Mink Deville. These acts attracted the Cream Of The Cream Bad Boys (COTCBB). and our beloved Supreme Court Justice was in the fucking thick of it every nite I recall. I used to find him in back alleys all over North Beach where his woman lived. I would see him Blowing the living Hell out of his low G Harp, just fucking roasting it standing in some fucking alley. That’s my boy the Frisco Wolf. That boy always was the Heart Of Frisco Wild Man Blues Blowing Music Loving Fool (HOFWMBBMLF) that Boy!!!

"My Boy Pigpen, hey man do you remember that crazy weekend when you decided you and all your Pal’s were going to dye your Junk Black! Man, I laughed so fucking hard, you said all the Bitches’s will be killing each other trying to get a taste of Jungle Love Dirty White Boy Style! Man, that was some funny ass shit Dawgggg!!!!"

"Oh Yeah, Black Junk! I do recall that insanity man. Did anyone actually get their Junk dyed Dude?"

"Did we, we went to see that old man who owned the Ace Shoe Store on Fillmore & Geary Street and ask him how much it would cost to turn six white Pricks into six Shiny Black Dicks... Hey man, is there a fucking song in there Pilgrim? Lets write it right now, title it, work it out for your Band reunion Man! Stiff Nipples needs this kind of tune Cowboy comprende’ pour some more..."

"Man, I still trip bout those 1960s, Dude did we not drink profusely from the Cup Of Hard Core Nastinessssss!!! (COHCN)."

"We did not sip Pig! Listen man San Francisco has become a declawed Bitch Buddy. When I’m home roaming, slidin, rollin, tumblin on my Skateboard it ain’t the same laid back vibes. The new generations are building iron gates to keep out the world while wearing sweaters around their necks and raising brats. Its as if the last vestige of real masculinity left town when the overly entitled, highly educated, spoiled, blind, conservatives moved in from Silicon valley."

  Fucking locust came and ate the leaves off the well established Frisco Tree Of All Encompassing life (FTOAEL) like Clint Eastwood talking to empty chairs at the 2012 Republican Convention..."

"Pass the Bong Dude"

  Black Messiah has arisen like the ancient warrior spirit Zitheious who for a heart beat was the supreme ruler of an advanced surreal outer Galaxy near the dark star Beta in the Sistheous Star Quadrant just 100 Trillion Light Year’s left of Mars baby! He is in fine spirits and looking for the last of the LSD, Schrooms, 100 yr old Single Malt and he is ready fo the last evening in Alaska’s deep remote everythingness...

"Quill, Man, thanks for saving my dumb ass from biting off more then any man can possibly chew from over fucking amping on this Reelection Bullshit! Feelin better this morn, talked to the family, all well. Great to be alive and all that jive, sha dooby. Hey man, anybody here like the fucking Dooby Brother’s Man?"

"Old school and still rolling, saw them in Berkeley California last year. Hot show man, Soccer Mom’s and kids, great show. Hey lets suit up and go after this last evening trout bite. I see them starting to jump man. Alaska been good to us boys, lets make this last nite the best! Cut back just a taste on the Hard Drug/Booze/Orgy/Fetish Fest(HDBOFF) and prepare for reentry... I’m almost out of feathers for the Mosquito Pattern, time to throw bugs boys lets go."

"Hey boys I just got a great idea! I think its around 4am Washington time, your main boy Fat Tony Scalia is sound asleep dreaming about how to spend the 100 Kabillion he Banked after giving America’s Corporations real people rights such as give all the money you want to get YOUR BOY elected!"

"Fat Man, wake up Dude! Good morning from deep Alaska Mr. Give It All Away! Soo listen I’ll be rolling in two days, get my main Bitches ready for Party Time Italian I wanna be a Stallion., Uh huh. So what’s up Pilgrim?"

"You Pathetic Drug Addled Octogenarian (PDAO) PTSD riddled grey haired bag of San Francisco Hippy shit? You have the fucking Cahonies to wake me up with this drivel. I’m fucking tempted to call my boys and have your ass for Breakfast Marine Hero! Are you fucking listening to me asshole?"

"Wipe the grease off that fat Italian face and write this down so you never ever forget you pathetic fat whiny grease ball. If you ever had any Balls you and I would probably be at the least lunch time Pals. Deal is Tony baby, we both understand the fucking hugefied chasm we have to scream across just to amiably exist in the same fucking building. Comes down to what you did as a boy and what the Frisco kid was into right Pilgrim. Ok, example fat boy. From age 7 until I went into the fucking corps at 16 after Mom lied and falsified my Birth Certificate. My entire existence, every waking hour, every fucking nite or day dream was about either hunting, fly fishing, and becoming the absolute best back alley Street Fighter at that time in all of San Francisco period. Of course pussy came into play and that my friend was the fucking end to all innocence other then when I killed a few dozen Gook’s in Vietnam by 17. Now you on the other fucking hand were a Boy Scout trying to learn knot tying and helping little old ladies cross the street while I was practicing early Panty Removal Technique’s (PRT) circa late 1950s Alcohol and expert lying usually did the job in those hallowed sacred early years."

"Please in the name of whatever Pagan fucking god you worship asshole! Stop this drug induced mindless dribble. Better tell your boy the Black Messiah Shit Homely and Clint Eastwood were a scream at the R Convention. What a show, Clint killed with a blithering mind fuck of a rant, great shit! Also before you come back I sent all the relevant Bullshit needed for next Session. FYI, all the girls are scared your going to insist on endless orgies, lap dances, stripper pole parties and BJ lunches and such. Your Clerks are out on parole and your always empty chambers have been fumigated for vermin as the dust balls are now in full control. Justice Quill! Justice’s Kennedy, Thomas, and Blackmen all in unison send you no good wishes and hope your little fucking Jet Copter goes down on the way back, chow you Old Hippy Fool! (OHF)"

"Same to you Fat Grease Ball, maybe its time for special Old Man Boxing Lesson’s Pilgrim. You borrow some testicle’s and stop walking your wife’s four ounce almost Wanna be a real Dog on her sweet Pink leash and borrow someone’s testicles and I’ll be happy to give you private Boxing Lesson’s. Say 3am Court Gym. Pilgrim? Let the other little Boy’s know my first move when I return will be a hugified Drug/Sex/Orgy just like old times, you betcha Ball player, Peace and kiss’s to all! Oh, when my man Drake arrives in two days, if he is the least bit hassled by any of you assholes, Hell to pay Mr. Give The Mother Fucking Nation Away (MGTMFNA) comfuckunprende?"

Endless twists and ragged turns down into the Worm Hole of Reality as Fate comes to town!




Read about Fletcher Quill in earlier chapters:

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11
12 13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20
21 22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29
30 31  32  33  34  35  36  37  38
39 40  41  42  43  44  45  46  47
48  49  50  51  52  53  54  55  56
57  58  59  60  61  62  63  64  65
66  67  68  69  70  71  72  73  74
75  76  77  78  79  80  81  82  83
84  85  86  87  88  89  90  91  92
93  94  95  96  97  98  99  100  101
102  103 104 105 106 107 108 109
110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117
118 119 120 121


Written by Dan Fallon 2012
Illustrations by Phil Frank 2003
Photos by Dan Fallon 2012

For Dan Fallon's earlier and later columns;
visit the
table of contents



Read Dan Fallons biography and contact info



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© Mats Sjöstrand 2012

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