Category Archives: Dicky Duck

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The Day Before the Gray Day

The day before the gray day, there was a glimmer of hope for a beautiful sunset.

Blue sky and lots of sunshine.

There was a slight haze creeping upward, thawing ground, some humidity.

Problem was, no clouds.

Sunsets need clouds. It’s what gives them color, shape and form. There was a hint of clouds on the horizon, but possibly just enough to make the sunset, nice. That was a nice sunset.

Without clouds it’s just a bright yellow / orange object in a sea of blue. Nice, but not what I want.

I killed some time, I always do. Waiting for the right time, the right light and that right moment when everything comes together.

As the sun lowered, the haze rose, the clouds crept eastward.

A short window of opportunity before the light changed.

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The haze was rising, on the horizon, thin clouds. Sunset color killers both.

The haze was rising, on the horizon, thin clouds. Sunset color killers both.

By now I knew the sunset was going to be, nice. I poked around, moved around, uninspiring at best.

While waiting, I kill some time by wandering the archery range. I always find at least one. Most of the time, you don't see this much of one sticking out of the ground.

While waiting, I kill some time by wandering the archery range. I always find at least one. Most of the time, you don’t see this much of one sticking out of the ground.

Little Dickie likes his selfies.

Little Dickie likes his selfies.

The moment came, I took a shot, then another.

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Then I left.

Decisions, Decisions…

Decisions, decisions on where to go this weekend.

Do I go to this stretch of the river…

And try to catch a few of these…

Or maybe a few of these along with them…

Or do I go to one of the creeks that look like this…

And try for creek versions of the same fish…

Or humor myself catching these on the creeks…

Or do I go here, my secret ponds…

And try for these…

Or these…

Or maybe this big girl…

Or maybe some combination of all three places.

Decisions, decisions…

Whichever I choose, I really should take out my Dicky, give it a good washing and bring him along everywhere I go…

He’s getting a bit lonely.

Music to Fish and Wander By

I get songs stuck in my head.
For awhile, this one has been stuck there.
It will open in another window…

Donovan, Hurdy Gurdy Man

Thrown like a star in my vast sleep
I open my eyes to take a peep

To find that I was by the sea
Gazing with tranquillity.

Like my words, my outings have been few. I think.

I’ve lost track. I have a few pictures that helps me remember.

The heat has been repressive, unbearable at times. Standing in the water of the river does nothing to alleviate that feeling. If nothing, it makes matters worse.

The water is low, murky, at times weed choked.

The fish are cooperative, at times. Most times not. Dipping a hand in water is not a refreshing sensation. It too makes matters worse.

‘Twas then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man
Came singing songs of love,

Then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man
Came singing songs of love.

Water isn’t supposed to do this. It’s supposed to be refreshing, invigorating and inviting. An opportunity to cool the core, achieve balance.

Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, gurdy he sang.
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, gurdy he sang.
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, gurdy he sang.

Histories of ages past
Unenlightened shadows cast
Down through all eternity
The crying of humanity.

‘Tis then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man
Comes singing songs of love,
Then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man
Comes singing songs of love.

Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, gurdy he sang.
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy.
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, gurdy he sang.

Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, gurdy he sang.
Here comes the roly poly man and he’s singing songs of love,
Roly poly, roly poly, roly poly, poly he sang.

Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, gurdy he sang,
Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, gurdy he sang

This song came out in 1968, I was 12.
I had a paper route, I always carried a transistor radio with me.
I would turn up this song till the little speaker vibrated.

Even then I thought the words and the music were diametrically opposed.
Singing songs of love with the music being so ominous and his singing tone so dry.

I always wondered about the electric guitar and who played, only I never bothered looking it up.

Found out while doing this, it’s probably Jimmy Page.

Makes sense to me.

Poor Dicky

My new found buddy Dicky Duck and I have become inseparable ever since I saved him from being abandoned on the beach at Devil’s Lake State Park a couple of weeks ago.

He’s requested to come with me everywhere I go.

He seems to enjoy tagging along for all the fishing and wandering I do.

He enjoyed today’s walk through the woods to the ponds to do some fishing.

He enjoyed all the little bass and bluegills we were catching and caught on quickly that I swear considerably more when I miss what I think is a nice fish.

There was a lot of swearing going on, or so I’m told.

I did manage to land a decent spawned out largemouth bass that was around 18 inches or so.

Dicky begged and pleaded with me to get a better look at this monster of a fish, to him anyway.

So I gave him one.

Awwww, poor Dicky.

He didn’t find that even remotely funny.

He’ll get used to it.