Kispoix Waders: CEC2010-003

“Everyone has a Home-Ground. They should remember it and tell others about it.” Les Booth ©2010; painting, Kispoix Steelhead Camp ©2010 Diane Michelin

A slight, barely perceptible, rustling of pages lightly disturbed the afternoon silence.  Dust particles danced in the sunbeam sneaking past years of unwashed dirt on the attic window. The rustling continued.

Not rhythmic in movement, just the occasional perception of sporadic movement.  It was, however slight, deliberate.  Someone  – or something – was moving the papers and he heard it.

Quiet as the mouse he thought may have been disturbing his personal treasures, he crept past the old steamer trunk and around the gun cabinet.

Just as he rounded the far corner of the bookcase, filled with the bound volumes echoing their former owners peaked interest, and amid his plans for how he would dispatch this unknown invader…  he saw the shadow.

He stopped, dropped and lay perfectly quiet.  Carefully listening; trying to hear anything above the pounding, rhythmic thud of his little heart!

It wasn’t the mouse he’d been expecting.  It was much larger.  Who – or what! – could possibly be in his attic? Bothering his precious stuff? This was not good. He’d have to sneak back downstairs and get reinforcements.

“OK Wyatt. I know you’re up here. Come on over,  I have something to show you.”

At the sound of the familiar voice he broke into one of his million-dollar-grins; punctuated with deep dimples, a pronounced chin cleft, and flashing blue eyes.

“Grama! What are you doing in my attic? I thought you were a mouse.”

Running around all the dust covered relics the little guardian pounced into his Grama’s lap and into another welcome moment in family history.

Within microseconds there commenced an amazing ballet. The juggling of energetic little boy and precious papers without damaging spirit or structure of either was quite the sight to behold. All done amid giggles, gleeful shouts and grandmotherly coos.

Nearly as fast as the little tornado has erupted, he had been subdued and Grama had caught her breath. All was again quiet. All, except the now Amazonian flow of dust – gorging through the sunbeam in the wake of the ‘little tornado’.

“So what are you doing up here Grama?”

“Well… I come up here every so often to go through these old treasures and get back in touch with some parts of history I really like to keep close to my heart.”

“You keep treasure in your heart?  That’s silly Grama. You make me laugh.”   Another Wyattism had been unleashed and they were both into a good, long  laugh.

Finally, she took her little buddy in her arms and whispered in his ear,”I have a story for you. Do you want to hear it? Now?”

“Oh, youbetcha Grama! I love your stories. They’re just awesome”, Wyatt gushed.

As her joyful smile grew, moistening at the eye line from the pleasures of grandchild-presence, she hauled him up onto her knee, moved a few papers, and opened a large, old book.

“Wyatt, this is a photo album…”, Grama began.

“Oh, like mommy and daddy have of pictures mommy takes?”

“Yes. Just like that. Only this one… is from a long, long time ago.  It was started by my great-grandmother and has been handed down over the years to all the oldest daughters in the family.”

“Why?”

“My great-grandmother and great-grandfather both thought it was very important that some things our family did – especially those things we did… as a family – should be passed on to the younger members.  My father told me that his father said these things were, ‘family treasures’.

You know, the way Grampa likes to tell you stories from when he was a little boy?”

“Oh yeah!  I really like Grampa’s stories. Especially the ones about the Gar people.  I wanna go look for them. He said we could go soon as the weather warms.”

“He’s really looking forward to that, too.  Say, do you want to know a secret – about the Gar People?”

“SURE!  A secret about the Gar People. Cool! What is it?”

“The story about the Gar People – the very same one that Grampa tells you – he heard it first, from his mother; your great-grandmother Mary. So that story, is one of the ‘family treasures’ that have been passed down for several years. He told it -many times! – to your daddy.”

“Wow! So Grampa’s mommy told him the story about the Gar People?  Did he tell you the story?”

“Yes he did. I head the story from your Grampa when he told it to your daddy. That story and many others your Grampa tells have become our ‘family treasures’, too.”

For the next hour, the two of them were huddled over the photos, cards, drawings, newspaper and magazine clippings and other paraphernalia they discovered, tucked away between the heavy stock sheets of the photo album.  The questions came rapid fire from the inquisitive little mind.  Each one was answered with calm, loving care. Each moment filed neatly away for days when a spot of sunshine would be needed.  Hidden treasures in the making.

As one page opened, little Wyatt exclaimed, “Grama!! Whose fishing waders are those? Grampa’s?  They look just like the pair he had on last summer when he took down to Pine Creek to fish.”

“Well they certainly do look like Grampa’s waders.  But they aren’t Grampa’s waders. Those waders, belonged to my father.  Sadly, you never got to know him. He died before you were born. Oh!, he’d have really like you and he’d also have liked taking you fishing just like your Grampa does.  In fact, your Grampa and my Father were great fishing buddies. This very photograph of my daddy’s waders, was taken by your Grampa right after he and I met for the very first time.  So this photograph is a special ‘family treasure’ for Grampa and me.”

“Oh. That was a long…  l-o-n-g… time ago, wasn’t it Grama?”

“Yes, my little blue-eyed buddy, it was a long time ago.  Yet, for me, it seems like just yesterday.”

“Were Grampa and your daddy fishing together? Were they fishing Pine Creek?”

“They were indeed fishing together, but it wasn’t on Pine Creek.  They took a big trip back to my father’s ‘home ground’.”

“What’s home.. home .. grou…ground … home ground?  What’s that?”

“Home-Ground is the place where you grow up learning about something important to you and to your life. Like Pine Creek is for your Grampa.  Remember how he told you about the places he used to run, play and explore… when he was a boy… only a few years older than you?”

“Yes! I do!  I really wish I lived on Pine Creek. I’d like to go fishing and running through the woods like Grampa did. He was really lucky back then.”

“He certainly was.  That’s why he loves telling you – and others – about how important it is to remember your Home-Ground and to tell others – especially your family members.

Just like how  you and your sister Sara and your daddy and your mommy, have stories, that your family is making.

Everyone has a Home-Ground. They should remember it and tell others about it.

That’s the kind of place – the Kispoix River, in British Columbia, Canada, where this picture was taken – was for, my daddy, your great-grandfather.  The Kispoix River and the country around it, was your great-grandfather’s playground as a young boy.  It had a real important part in making him such a fine person, a loving husband, father, grandfather… and I know if he’d have lived long enough.. an even more wonderful, great-grandfather to you and Sara.

That’s what a Home-Ground does.  It has a very important role in building the kind of a person, those who live, work and play in it’s care, will become.

This picture has a great deal of ‘treasure’ in it for me. It reminds me of my daddy and just how much of a fun daddy he was. He really loved his grandson -your daddy, Luke – and loved to take him fishing any time he could. Fishing was a big, big thing in my daddy’s life.  Just like it was for his daddy before him.

That’s why we keep this photo album in our family and bring it out to show the younger members of the family… like YOU.”

“Well, Grama, we need to do this more often! I really like it. And I know Sara will like it, too.  Can mommy and daddy, come up here, in the attic, the next time we look at the photo album? Does Grampa come up here, too? Maybe we can have a picnic in my attic and look at all the pictures. Can we!?!”

“Well.  I certainly don’t see why not. We’ll just have to make plans to do that real soon.”

The paper continued to rustle, the chatter bubbled on,  for another 45 minutes before the little blond energizer, nestled into Grama’s comforting lap, nodded off to sleep.  Fortunately the little man was still small enough for Grama to carry him, downstairs, to his room at, Grama’s Home.

As Grama quietly slipped out of his room, deep behind those dancing blue eyes, visions of the Gar People played on the stage of a rock strewn Gar Island. The retinal movie was liberally punctuated with giggles from the blond-haired boy, with dancing dimples, a dashing chin cleft and of course, those sparkling blue eyes.

He grinned and laughed in his slumber, for all the Gar People were dressed in waders, just like the ones in Great-Grampa’s  photograph.

Wet Wade: CEC2010-002

”No real-fly-fishin’-man would wear ‘wimp-assed’ waders in ‘wet-wadin’-time’ Eh?” story ©2010 Les Booth; painting, Wading Wet, ©2010 Diane Michelin

The phone was nearing the end of its ring cycle. Two more rings and the really cool answering machine voice would engage.

“Hey Y’all! This is Curt’s sexy, silky voiced digital female assistant.  I’ll take your call, but Curt isn’t here.  He’s somewhere getting wet, freezin’ his ass off and loving it so much I have no idea when he’ll be back.  But don’t fret!  He calls me everyday; he can’t live without hearing my voice. Clearly say your name, the date you’re calling, state – clearly – what you need and leave Curt a callback number.  He’ll get back to you… ’cause you can only wet wade in 50 degree water just so long.  Thanks for calling. <Kiss!> .. Beeeeep.

Well, she’s sultry, witty and tireless.  She’s wonderful … but she didn’t get to prove it – again – this time.

“Hi. This is Curt. What can I interrupt to assist you?”

“Wow dude, you really know how to make a person feel welcome.  When did you join the International Order of Misanthropes?”

“Hey, Josh. Frick! If I’d have known it was you I’d have let CC answer the phone.”

“CC? Who’s that?  You got a new roomie or something?”

“Nah! That’s my new sexatary answering machine.  Her name is Chrome-Cathy.  I call her ‘CC’. You’d get a kick out her… knowing just how much of a perv you are!”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problemo pard.  So, why’d you call? Surely, not to get a verbal butt kickin’ from me. Whatcha up to?”

“Well, I’m off on a fishing adventure in 3 weeks and wanted to know if you’d like to join me.”

“Where we goin’?”

“Idaho. Small drainage on the eastern side of the state. It’s remote. Quiet. No people.  And it has some of the best Cutthroat fishing this side of 1840.”

“So, where exactly in ‘eastern Idaho’ is our paradise located?”

“It’s in the Selway-Bitteroot Wilderness, just west of the Montana border. It is remote! Nearest road is 30 miles away. We have to fly in or do a hard 3 days on horseback.  This is one of – if not the most – remote area in the lower 48 states.  Mountain lion, black bear, gray wolf, elk, deer, bobcat and a whole lot more are still in abundant supply. It’s not a place for city folk.”

“When do we pack?”

“In three weeks.  Booked 2 weeks in the only lodge in the area, starting 21st July.”

“So, what do I need to bring?  I take it we’ll be doing a lot of back country hiking, right?”

“Yep. That’s all we’ll be doing.  That and overnight camping; at least 6 of the 14 days.”

“So why did you book the lodge?”

“Best place to stay. Best access to the area. Best food in 60 miles. And they’ll come get us if we get ‘stuck’.”

“OK. Just thought I’d ask.”

“Pack rod – fly only, of course.”

“Duh? Yeeaaah!”

“Count on bead-head nymphs, Stimulators, Hairs-ear nymphs.. and some gawd-awful big Wooley Buggers.  Black, dark-purple and olive w/flecks of sparkle dun in ‘em.  There are the occasional Bull Trout in those waters, too.  Don’t want to pass that up, eh?”

“OK!  Sounds pretty much par-for-du-course, Bro. And thanks for the inclusion.”

“Oh and Curt, don’t forget your camera crap… OK?”

“Right!  You smart-acre! I got the ‘hint’ 10 years ago.  Just remember… I don’t ever ask anyone else to carry my ‘camera crap’ and y’all  -always-  love to look at the ‘purdy pictures’ I bring home. Eh?   Take care.  Hey! Gotta run.  Finally got hold of a live-one!  A real cash-paying victim .. uh, er…  I mean ‘client’.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.  Maybe you’ll actually pay for a beer or two on this trip. Eh?”

“Careful dude. You know which of us runs faster.  And I’d bet $2-and-a-donut’ that there are cougar where we’ll be goin’. So… just remember what ‘slow-buddies’ are for…!”

“OOOOO!  Shaking in my waders already.”

“Waders? Dude, who’ll have waders?  We’ll be there in July, ‘wet-wadin’-time’ !!  No real-fly-fishin’-man would wear ‘wimp-assed’ waders in ‘wet-wadin’-time’  Eh?????”

“Are you crazy dude? We’re talking about Idaho.. high altitude… cold mountain streams. Freeze your jewels off cold water man.  Not to mention rocks… and along with the cougars – there are rattlesnakes.  So, call me ‘wimp-assed’ all you want, but I’ll be wearing waders.”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’.”

“Gotta run. Talk with you again in a week.”

“Sure thing and thanks again .. REALLY! .. for the invite. I’m looking forward to it.”

[Two months later]

Rinnnng. Rinnng. Rinnnng. Rinnng.

“Hey Y’all! This is Curt’s sexy, silky voiced – and now really worried – digital female assistant.  I’ll take your call, but Curt isn’t here.  He’s somewhere getting wet, freezin’ his ass off and loving it so much I have no idea when he’ll be back. I thought he’d have called in …long before now.  But don’t fret! In the past he’s called me everyday; he can’t live without hearing my voice. At least… I thought he couldn’t.  You know the drill – After the ‘Beeep’, say your name clearly; state the date you’re calling and what you need. Please speak clearly as you leave Curt a callback number.  He’ll get back to you: I’m now only assuming this is still true. ‘Cause you can only wet wade in 50 degree water just so long.  Thanks for calling and please, remember Curt fondly. I certainly do. <Kiss!>

.. Beeeeep.

Streamside: CEC2010-001

”Yet, this type of ‘weirdness’ is the nature of such mystery.” story ©2010 Les Booth; painting, Streamside, ©2010 Diane Michelin

Freestone Palette

Colors trace wild run
Essence of time freely flows
Life intensifies

Freestone Mystery

Penticton Herald, ePenticton Herald News
Josh Mavenhome Penticton Herald / Saturday Edition
10/24/09

Many unsolved mysteries exist around the world, but the 1998 unexplained disappearance of a Victoria, BC woman still has people down in Keremos shaking their heads.

This clip, from the article, written by my uncle Thomas Mavenhome, about the 1998 cold case, fills in some background for those unfamiliar with the 11 year old mystery.

‘Four weeks ago, Provincial Conservation Officer, Sarah Tumewatter, and BC Fisheries Biologist, Jon McCormick, stumbled upon a mystery on Bumblechoock Creek, north of Keremos, BC. The events of 23 September, 1998, still remain no closer to being resolved than they did on that fall Sunday afternoon, 4 weeks ago.

“We have no clues, other than the personal items and still alive brook trout, found, yesterday, on the banks of Bumblechook Creek. We are quite baffled. We simply have no idea where Jane Manson is today.”, said officer Tumewatter in an interview on Friday; 23 October, 1998.

Jan Manson, well known Victoria resident, is an attractive 32 year old, red-haired, athlete, fly-fishing aficionado, respected outdoor artist and conservation advocate. Ms. Manson, single, went missing Sunday 23 September. The answers to her whereabouts are still a complete mystery.

Tumewatter and McCormick were conducting a 10-year stream assessment of Bumblechook Creek, along a remote stretch of water in the upper reaches of the rough country, north of Keremos, BC, when they came upon a very strange scene.

Tumewatter and McCormick rounded a bend on the creek to find, neatly laid out on the rocks beside the stream, a fly-rod and reel, a landing net and a very much alive, brook trout.

Officer Tumwatter said both she and McCormick spent over 2 hours combing the area, after placing a call to report the strange findings to the Penticton BCCO office. Within an hour after the phone call – they were joined by other BCCO personnel. BCCO carried on the search, around-the-clock, for the next 14 days.

By the time the official search was canceled, nothing had turned up. No prints. No clothing. No personal items. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There were no shoe prints anywhere. None. No prints of any kind.  Not along the creek; into the creek bed; nor back up into the woods.  McCormick said it was as if Manson was,”… just transported away. Gone. Without a trace”. ‘

Ms. Manson’s 1998 2-dr GMC Jimmy, bearing the custom trademark of a – Screaming Brook Trout – located on both lower door panels and rear tailgate, was nowhere to be found in the vicinity.  Despite extensive searches all across Canada, Alaska, the lower 48 United States and even into Mexico, no trace has been found.

Bumblchook Creek’, is said to have more than the occasional black bear and a rare appearance of cougars.  But neither animal is suspected to be involved in Manson’s disappearance.

BC Conservation Officers identified the owner of the fly-rod, reel and landing net and therefore the missing person – as Ms. Manson – from the name, email address and drivers license number, marked on each item.

Many speculations have arisen over the years as to the whereabouts of Ms. Manson.

Some say Manson fell into Bumblechook Creek’s icy waters, drowned and was swept downstream, over the 14 meter waterfall, downstream roughly 1/2 kilometer. But the water was thoroughly checked; above and below the falls. Nothing turned up. Most feel this was most unlikely.

Others say, she fell, suffered a concussion and amnesia then either staggered out of the area or was possibly lost and died of exposure.  But that too, seems unlikely.  The area was thoroughly searched; thousands of motorists and people in the area were canvased;  nothing; not so much as a ‘maybe’, was uncovered.

One popular theory is that Manson, a very pretty 32 year old, was abducted and kidnapped by the fabled remnant of the Spanish conquistadors, said to be living in the wilderness around Bumblechook Creek.  No one has officially documented the veracity of the claims as to whether these mythical residents  really exist. But wild and fantastical stories abound. With many claiming to have had contact with them; and some even claiming to be descendants.

The list of speculations continue, and continue to grow.  Many are fantastical enough to even make sense. But not seriously, unless you’re under the influence of mind altering chemicals first.

Yet, this type of ‘weirdness’ is the nature of such mystery.

Maybe it’s to be as Tumewatter said in an interview on the 5th anniversary of the unsolved missing person’s file.  “Some things just remain a mystery. Until something else shows up, that’s how we’ll have to look at this case.”

Yes, maybe so.

For now we only have the image of the fly-rod, reel, landing net and a live brook trout to help us conjure up the actual events that have led to this mystery.

Waves of Creativity

“In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed” … Charles Darwin

Many metaphors have been used to describe the power of the forces found within those who are possessed with creativity.

I too have used the forces and elements of  fire, water, wind and earth to add imagery to explaining what happens.  But my favorite imagery word and metaphor is the WAVE.

Waves naturally occur in all elements of the natural world:  air, water, fire and earth.  Each of these are both elements and origins of waves.  The unknown forces of electricity and the inexplicable force of light also travels in, among and through the action of waves.

Thus, a better metaphor for creativity I do not know.

There is a force of an exceedingly odd and wondrous nature, which resides within the heart of those who create.  To me the best description of this force is that of a WAVE.

Waves do not begin as waves though. The begin as ripples.  Small at first, then growing as their energy builds.  In the world of reality, waves do not run unencumbered. There are always interferences that will divert, absorb, adopt… even eliminate a wave.  The same is quite true for the creative wave.

The ripple.  Beginning from a single source it spreads outward, touching nothing or everything.  It’s the luck-o-the-draw which it becomes.  The ripple continues on to its end back to a static state; so long as the genesis itself remains static.

When a ripple magnifies – in size or in number – it builds in size and energy.

The ripple turns into a wave.  The origin of the ripple determines the size of impact it will have at any time.  Each one housing its own kinetic energy the innate ability to instantly rise up to form a unified force that becomes a Wave.

When individual ripples of creativity unite, they form the creative wave and this is where collaboration begins.

Whether collaboration is the actual physical involvement – of two or more creatives  – with the outcome of a production – or the result of shared idea, discussion or other informative infusion of inspiration, the unification of the ripples cannot help but build into a creative wave.

The HOW and WHY of an creative wave formation is purely up for speculation. All I know is this: it was a kinetic amplitude that swept me into a barrel curl in the early days of January 2010.

GENESIS: The Continuum Begins

I was reading the mornings postings on my O’fieldstream Facebook account when I noticed a post by Jeff Kennedy.

Jeff over the 2009  year, had completed a self-made project he called Drawing Flies 365, which he posted the details, examples and updates of, on his blog.  In the project, Jeff – an accomplished artist – painted a fly-fishing fly each day for the 365 days of the year 2009.  At the end of 2009 he published a book of his work.  A very impressive piece of work, too.

In that Facebook post, I noticed he had teamed up with Jason Borger. Jason is, in his own right, an accomplished artist. He is also well knows for his roll as the renowned fly-caster ( the actual ‘shadow caster’ in the famous ‘A River Runs Through It‘ movie).  Jeff and Jason were teaming up to produce a daily, “My Take vs. Your Take”, collaboration of producing an illustration of a fly-fishing fly- every week- for the length of 2010.

I don’t know Jeff well, but we are FB friends and I’ve carried on a few FB posts with him over the past year.  While I’ve never met Jason,  I know ‘of him’.  Yes – just like and in the same way as – about 200M other people. Eh!  But, I do know his very famous father, Gary Borger.

All this rippling has gotten my creative juices and in turned put me into a mood that has gotten me to thinking. What I thought was…

“I’d really like to engage in some serious fun collaborations with other artists I know.”

And I knew just the person I wanted to contact for my first collaboration. In fact, I’d already stepped out and did a ‘silent-collaboration’ on a piece of this artist’s work.

Diane Michelin, of Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada was the first recipient of a  collaborative invitation.

Diane had placed on her Facebook page – around the first of January 2010 -  an image that immediately struck me  by the coloration, composition and characterization of one of my favorite outdoor passions (fly-fishing) and point-of-pursuit (brook trout (char).

I composed a ‘comment’ on Diane’s Facebook that included a  presentation – unfortunately no longer available online  – in which I invoked verbal liberty of assigning the name “Streamside”, to the print.  The forwardness was also liberally showered  in a wide variety of complimentary, ‘sides’.

That verbal jousting triggered more ideas.

A few minutes later a private message landed in Diane’s Facebook mailbox, waving, as an offering,  the following proposal.

I see you’re doing a ‘self-challenge’ of a painting a week .. a bit of Jeff Kennedy here, eh?

How ’bout adding a bit of Yin-Yang to the mix.

Proposal:
- You do a painting (Yin)
- release it to Facebook and point to it as your ‘Yin’ – and
- within 3 days I do a creative -something- (Yang) – in compliment

Translation:
You produce your visual image -whatever it will be- and I’ll produce a story, poem, haiku, or other ‘visual’ to compliment (in true Yang principle), and then I will post it on my O’fieldstream Facebook,  OOAK Digital Gallery and here, on the Creative Exponential Continuum site, with links to your image, within 3 days of your initial posting.

In essence a Yang, to the Yin of your painting.

As an example:

To your most recent display (not sure of the ‘name’ or ‘title’ of the painting) – the brook trout at brook-side, w/ fly-rod+reel on stones, I submit the following Haiku and short-story, for your review.

My Yang.

Whadaya think?  “. )

To show Diane I was serious, I also sent her two ‘samples’ of my YANG to her YIN,  with the print, “Streamside”.

One was a traditional Haiku, the other a short-story in a news-story-report writing style of a fictional incident reported in the fictional pages of a very real Vancouver BC newspaper.

Diane’s response was more than I could have hoped for.  She was ecstatic about the idea.

Her enthusiasm for my proposal spurred me on.  The ripples was now beginnng to look just like a wave!

As of this posting, the goal is to obtain at least one collaboration – during 2010 – between myself and another ‘artist’ -  on each of the seven continents.  I’ve already connected with 4 Continents and am working on 2 of the remaining three!   Antarctica, you’re in my sights!

This site -The Creative Exponential Continuum – will become a running record – and gallery – of the collaborative creations taken on and hopefully completed in 2010.

Please

• Join us.
• Look around.
• Toss a donation into the Continuum.
• Tell your friends.
• Give us a push on the Social Network chains.
• Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Posterous and more.

Again, thank you and we look forward to your visits and comments.

Les Booth
Founder of Creative Exponential Continuum