Word: upstreams
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Suddenly Lempke broke out of his semicrouch into an exaggerated stride against the current, which translates roughly into a 440 run in JellO. As his body moved upstream, he worked the rod in his hand in metronomic double time, back and forth, back and forth, inching toward the trout, which had broken water again just a few feet forward of the last rise. As Lempke cast, setting down the fly, an imitation of a green drake May fly, a couple of yards above the rise pattern, his words came drifting on the wind: "My wife never has to worry about...
...opinions with conviction but also with a gentle good humor, a high threshold for fools and the open-mindedness of an expert. At 66, he says, he still has plenty to learn from the river. "There are no set rules," he says, standing in the Snake, eyes darting upstream. "These are living things. I really think fish are individuals. They have some way of communicating with each other. People want to make fly-fishing complicated. I've read books that make it seem like you've gotta be a Ph.D. to go flyfishing. Everybody's looking...
...something that still has something to say but is more than the general kind of nihilistic thing I and some of my peers have been associated with." Instead, he aims to "swim against the tide of lethargy and nihilism"?this from the same man who swam upstream in those very waters not seven years ago, spawning madly. Now what he wants is "a sound which says, 'This is what emotion feels like...
Last month the San Joaquin River, flush with mountain runoff, broke through a levee near Vernalis in Northern California and washed out 10 sq. mi. of prime farmland. Farther upstream, in central California's Kings County, rains had already dunked 70,000 acres in floodwater; the runoff now threatens an additional 20,000 acres. "We're down here like a bathtub without a drain," fretted Farmer Don Gilkey, who had 4,000 of his 10,000 acres drowned...
...boatman's clothes, but as a naked Indian hiding in the pawpaw tunnels. "The writing is lyrical but is always darkened by tragedy and disappointment. At the end of the story, Reva meditates by the lock house in which she and Clinton made love: "Upstream, a deer's hoof sucked in the soft mud, but Reva kept watching the swimming moon-the same moon she knew Clinton watched with his cincinnate whore. "She realizes the hopelessness of her desires, and sets fire to the lockhouse in an act of despair and rejection...