On The Fly

Brendan on Buick Rock Ker-Plop! Was the dismal sound I heard surrounded by the rushing waters of the trout stream in the High Sierras, as my Coolpix digital camera sank to the bottom of the river. “Grab it quick, take the battery out, dry it off the best you can” shouted my fishing companion above the roaring waters. Immediately, I reached into the icy cold, crystal clear waters, grabbed the camera before it was washed away in the rushing current. The date, Friday, August 23, 2013. Our Sierra trips were as much about photography as they were about hiking, camping, and exploring. Now all I could think was, Damn! - So much for taking pictures on this trip. We had just arrived for our four day mountain adventure at Parchers Resort west of Bishop California at an elevation of 9,200 feet. Undaunted, we made plans to hike to Bishop Lake (elevation 11,128 feet) and establish a base-camp. This adventure began at the trailhead access point near South Lake (9,750 feet). However, today...

Patrick Ball with Lori's Trek Madone Today marks another year of my holiday on earth, over half-a-century, (exactly 20,819 days old) sounds ominous doesn’t it. What can one say about this accomplishment? Let’s examine days remembered. As a young boy, say, six or seven years old, when we met any of my grandfathers (on my fathers side) friends attending a field trial (at the fox hunters camp), a hunting trip, softball game, a trip to the county fair, or just a visit to the barber shop all I remember thinking was, “ Boy this ole’ guy sure is old .” As kids we didn’t exactly have a respectful command of the english language, did we? Then you mature, and reach the teen years, now it’s “Who is - this - ole’ geezer?”  What do small children think when they meet an elderly person? “Wow! Look at those thick bushy eyebrows, big ears, wrinkled skin, that oversize nose,” or maybe it’s the wooly hair that sprouts from these body parts, or all the above. My grandfather had one of thos...

“What about this American, this amateur art collector, a Mr. Leyland I believe, who contacted Monsieur Rossi? Should we not contact him as well?” was my question to Peridot as we left the outdoor cafe headed for our rendezvous.  “My hunch is,” said Peridot, “tonight's dinner will enlighten our situation enormously.” I simply could not imagine how crystal clear all the events that brought us to Florence would soon become. With the Arno River on our left our early evening stroll took us past the Ponte Vecchio Bridge. We then turned north and followed the narrow cobblestones to a central round about with the Column of Justice ( La statue de la justice ) in its center. As our destination approached, I caught Peridots glance. He appeared to recognize a man sitting at a small table, just outside the cafe, curiously looking at his phone. Peridot walked directly over to the man, cleared his throat, to get his attention, and held out his hand, “Well Mr. Davies, how have yo...