Monday, January 26, 2015

Easy like Monday morning

I remember as a kid, reading the Sunday cartoons and always thinking it was funny that Garfield hated Mondays.  I’m not sure if I was influenced by the sentiment, or learned the hard way through my professional experience (yeah….smirk all you want….), Mondays definitely suck.

Of course, there are exceptions to every rule.  I'm talking about the smart kid in the back who skews the curve because he aced the test that everyone else bombed.  The short dude on the basketball team who ends up going pro.  The Monday morning where everything seems to be OK instead of turning into a shit sandwich.   You know, Outliers.  In the same way you have to admire nature’s way throwing a wrench into the usual patterns, I am forced to admit that this Monday isn't shaping up too badly.

As I grab my first cup of coffee, Charlie (the local weather guy) keeps interrupting the Today Show with updates about “a low pressure system that is sweeping across Wisconsin and likely to drop approximately 1” of snow that will make the morning commute slippery”.   It’s clearly been a while since Charlie has had any fun weather to report because he seems uncharacteristically geeked up for such a weak storm.  Lucky for me, there will be no commute today thanks to a rotating shift schedule.  Today is my Saturday.  Let it snow!

Take *THAT*, Monday!  BAM!

The kids have left for school, and my wife is at work.  The house is deliciously quiet, so a cup or two (maybe more) of coffee, a couple of eggs and I set to the task of figuring exactly how I should best enjoy this snowy day.  Hell, I’m in such a good mood even the kickmeanklebiter dog gets an egg.  Not one of the organic eggs though, I still have a few store bought eggs, and those are the ones he gets.  He is, after all, just a dog.

Methinks that today, some quality time at the vise is in order.  I have been slowly getting everything together and ready to go for opening of the upcoming season.  My sling pack has been cleaned and re-organized, reels cleaned and lubed.  Fly lines have been wiped down and line conditioner applied.  Hell, I even found a DIY tippet spool tender while surfing Pinterest (go ahead…make fun. And NO, I didn't pet my mangina while on Pinterest). They work like a charm, so I made enough to cover me for the next to couple of seasons.  Of course, I've been filling the flyboxes in a slow, methodical manner.  It can be a big task just making sure the basics are covered: A bunch of my new scud pattern (that I have unrealistically high hopes for), a batch of back-up pink squirrels, and enough bead head pheasant tails to help offset my poor casting and risky placement habits. 

Today, I’ll be working on hoppers.  I smell a foam hatch in the air.  And coffee.  The irony of tying hoppers as the snow flies pleases me. I’m tying flies in January that I am guaranteed not to fish until at least July, Probably August.  That doesn't stop me from picturing one of these bad boys on a slow float along an overhanging weed line.  Then, all hell breaks loose as a wiley brown trout suddenly realizes that this "easy" meal has a price.  

Good stuff man, goooood stuff.   

Another sip of coffee and as the dog settles up next to my fly tying desk, it occurs to me that I’m not sure if this morning could be any better.  Big, chunky flakes are falling outside the window, the house is still silent and I’m lost in the peace of mind that only comes from immersing yourself into a task. 

Yeah, this definitely feels like the kind of Monday even Garfield could wrap his arms around.

Til Later, 


Wednesday, January 21, 2015

"In order to see tomorrow, you have to survive today"

Sometimes, having a blog leads me into things I hadn't really expected.  That said, occasionally those things come from places or people that are closer to the heart than others.  

Perhaps I should back up a bit: Years ago, I met an incredibly cocky young man.  At the time of our meeting, he was a cadet at the fire department where I was working.  My “role” was to teach him the ropes.  Keep him safe, but introduce him to the job.  Believe me when I tell you, bringing a cocky teenager into a culture and lifestyle where egos run rampant was no easy task, and we both took our lumps.  But, my gut told me it was worth it. There was something more to him than false bravado and testosterone; I liked him.  I think he reminded me of myself when I was younger: a guy who had figured out all the answers without having bothered to consider the questions. 

During his time in the fire service, he proved himself as a very competent and capable member of the team. He responded to some ugly calls and even survived few run-ins with the workplace toxicity that only adults can inflict on each other.  

To my dismay, not long after graduating from high school, he enlisted in the military.  It was not the military that I was against; it was the idea that I knew he would be deployed to one of the world’s shitholes.  It was the idea that over time I had sort of adopted him as a son, and I was scared he would come home in a box.  Firefighting is gritty work, but having some politician put him in front of bullets for reasons that may or not make sense? Yeah, I wasn't thrilled at all with his decision to enlist.  I was worried that his mom (whom I had once promised that I would make damn sure he was kept out of harms way) would be left with a neatly folded flag and a broken heart. 

As it turns out, despite my worries, he has not only survived his deployments and battlefields, but along the way he has proven himself as one hell of a good man and a tough soldier to boot.  I am proud to call him a cherished friend.  

What I didn't know, was the toll his service was taking on him and his growing family.  He is struggling right now and has taken to writing as a means to work through some personal challenges. So when he reached out and asked if I would publish a piece of writing to help him work through some tough times, I was floored and honored.   I couldn't be more proud to help my good friend.

I have consciously chosen (with permission) to post this essay with minimal edits.  It is raw, full of pain, and so honest that it hurts.  To edit for grammar or content would be disingenuous.

I ask that you read this post with an open mind and open heart.  If any of you out there are veterans, I would encourage you to share ways you are coping with reintegration.



A Beautiful Death

Before I get into too many details I want it to be known that I am not searching for pity, a shoulder to cry on or advice. Rather I’m using this as means to alleviate the pressure and pain I feel. Please don’t assume that my views are the same as MacLoosh’s but rather he has let me use his blog as a way to express and reduce my stress and pain. The pain I hold inside is real and it is a pain that so many Americans feel but we rarely talk about. MacLoosh has given me the opportunity to share the pain of many through the eyes of one. Again, please don’t assume my feelings and beliefs are that of MacLoosh or the military. Feel free to comment and share any struggles; writing might be the outlet that keeps you sane too.

A little background about me. I am a member of the greatest, most honorable and exhausted military in the world; the United States Army. I have been in the Army for almost 6 years, I have deployed to Afghanistan multiple times with multiple different missions. My first deployment was the most difficult by far. Multiple times we were shot at, mortared, ambushed and pushed to our mental and physical limits. The longest firefight I was in lasted 14 hours. I remember being shot at by an enemy marksmen who was trying to shoot me in the back from the other side of our outpost. I had to keep my back to the enemy that was shooting at me to maintain the security in my sector. Try to imagine knowing that the enemy has you in their sights but just can’t quite dial you in. Rounds were impacting within 5 feet of me and RPGs were flying just right over my head. Helicopters were bringing in ammunition that we ran out of and helicopters were taking our wounded. 14 hours this lasted for, the longest day of my life.

After just over 1 year of being home I deployed to Afghanistan again. This trip was far easier. It was shorter and I didn’t get shot at quite as much. I had a chance to work with a couple Special Forces groups from around the world and loved being there. This was when it really dawned on me that I loved being at war so much and I knew I wasn’t alone. When you deploy you always have someone who is there to watch your back. The bonds that you form with the soldiers to your left and right is unreal. I’m sure you have heard, and I will tell you again, you will never find friends like those who you have been shot at with. I am on my third deployment but so far from the front lines it kills me. There are firefights in Iraq, Syria, Africa and Afghanistan and I’m not there. If you have been keeping track, 6 years in the Army with 3 deployments. After so long you just cannot pretend to be a devoted husband and father. The Army took my ability to watch my son grow up and my ability to make my wife happy.

I can honestly tell you after coming so close to death, after so many times I should have died my soul become cold. I became numb to how my parents felt, how my wife felt and how the rest of my family felt. A big part of me was left in Afghanistan, a part that will never come back. When I was home the only thing that kept me going was knowing I was going to deploy again and I could once again feel the thrill of being shot at. Most would say I have a death wish, I would argue and say I have a way to die wish. I don’t want to die of cancer or a single vehicle rollover or a heart attack. The only way it makes sense for me to die is at war and then be buried underneath the American Flag. Life seems pointless to me unless I am able to die for what I believe in and die fighting for global freedom. Over and over again I think of the scene in the movie “300” where a Spartan is questioned about his smile looking at an overpowering enemy force. The Spartan replies that he has been to battle numerous times but has yet to meet an enemy that could offer him a “beautiful death”. He then says that he hopes one in the army that they are looking at will give him the honor. Maybe I just want to be remembered as one of the fallen that made a difference or maybe I feel that during my last moments that my sacrifices were justified knowing I died for my country and for my brothers.

Like many returning from Afghanistan I turned to booze to numb any feeling I had left. I was young and addicted to alcohol waiting to go on my next deployment. Life seemed empty when I wasn’t at war. What is the meaning of just laying around accomplishing nothing? I don’t know but what I do know is I would rather be at war then at home. This is where most of my pain today comes from. My wife and family just cannot comprehend my need to be at war. There is no doubt in my mind that I am miserable to be around. My wife recently told me that her and my family had to walk on eggshells around me because they were so afraid of me freaking out if I disagreed with what they had to say. I’m not physically violent towards my wife or family but I will become verbally hostile. This addiction to serve has separated me from my family and is ultimately the reason why my wife is leaving me. My wife told me she was unhappy and wanted to leave and I couldn’t think of any reason to convince her to stay. I have tried for so long to pretend to fit in the mold of a loving husband but I know that inside I am an empty cold hearted asshole. Now I’m not saying I don’t have the ability to love because trust me I do. I love my wife, my son, my family and friends. What I don’t have is the ability to care if my wife leaves, I alienate my friends or my family has to walk on eggshells around me.

So why am I in pain? It’s because I’m trying as hard as I can to feel again. Trust me, I don’t want my wife to leave. I know she is going to and I know she needs to, it is truly best for her and my son. I want to care about how she feels and how my family feels. A quote has been keeping me moving forward even though I feel so empty. “In order to see tomorrow, you have to survive today.” (Unknown). I survive every day to see if the next is better or if the next holds the answers. My wife deserves so much better. I pretended for so long I could be better but at the end of the day I know I’ll never be. I know I will never make her happy and I know there is nothing I can do to prove it to her.

When I started writing this I was not really sure where I was going with it. I wasn’t sure where it was going to end up. Maybe this is the start of my recovery, maybe this is how I can start to feel again by connecting through writing. Take what you will from my story. In the beginning I described the Army as being exhausted. Folks, I’m not alone in this. There are so many who are trying to deal, trying to cope and trying to pretend to be normal. The recent film “American Sniper” depicts this well. There are so many of us who feel this need to be back at war. We are drawn to combat. We feel empty without the group of people who went through hell with us. Don’t take this as a cry for help but maybe as a manual for dealing with a veteran. If we seem cold and cut off, we are. We are all just trying to feel again. We are all trying to understand how to reintegrate back into a life without war. Some have a desire to reintegrate. Some, like me, are simply not ready to be normal. We are not ready for a life without battle, we still seek a fight and are willing to go anywhere to defend freedom. With the recent acts of terror from ISIS/ISIL there are so many of us who are jumping out of our skins waiting to be told we can go back. Nothing would make me happy like the opportunity to go to the frontlines again and fight those cowards.

What’s next? Where do I go from here? The Wisconsin motto is “Forward”. I guess I will start there. I feel like I have found my purpose in life. I feel that where I am is exactly where I was meant to be. I’m simply not ready to be “normal”. I’m not ready to leave the Army. You might not be able to comprehend my need to serve, and I don’t expect you to. In fact don’t try to understand, you will never get there. Don’t think negatively about the military. We are not all crazy like me but some of us love what we do and what we protect so much we would rather be away fighting than at home.

Again, please don’t feel bad for me. This is the path I have chosen for myself and this is where I want to be. There are 3 types of people in the world; sheep, wolves and sheepdogs. Wolves are the terrorist that constantly try to destroy freedom and our way of life. Wolves pray on the sheep. Sheepdogs defend the sheep, they will die to protect the sheep. I am a sheepdog. I will gladly sacrifice my life for anyone who lives under the American Flag. Rest easy tonight knowing me and the rest of the military is standing guard. We will always be here defending freedom and defending America even if it means we have to sacrifice everything. 

Saturday, January 17, 2015


The speedometer reads 72.  That's 7 mph faster than the State of Wisconsin has deemed safe and prudent for Hwy 151.

Historically, I disagree with their assessment.  I'm pretty confident with that I am neither risking my safety nor the safety of those around me, any more than the farmer in the truck next to me who just ate a booger as I passed him.  We made brief eye contact, me and the farmer.  And he seemed oddly unashamed  (almost proud...) that I just busted him eyeing that goober up, right before shoving his finger in his mouth. Farmers march to the beat of a different drum, don't they?

Anyway, I'm immediately reminded of an old joke:  What do you find inside of a clean nose?    Fingerprints.  ............duh.

I'd go faster, but the Wisconsin State Patrol and I have had roadside discussions about this before. To date, I have lost each and every one of those arguments. I've learned over time that differences in opinion like this rarely end in a mutually acceptable resolution and I'm not much in the mood for the trouble today. So I keep my speed (relatively) in check.  Besides, the last time I had one of these roadside chats, I texted the picture below to my wife, and she immediately responded by asking if I had shown the cop my boobs to get out of a ticket?

She is always a big help, and these things can be incredibly difficult to live down.  Now that I think of it, I'm not sure who has a longer memory: My wife? or my insurance agent?

So I am focused and cruising along through part of the Driftless, an area of the state that I usually reserve for more distracted driving as I crane my head in hopes of catching a glimpse of a fish rising in the downstream pool at each bridge crossing.  The odds of seeing this are slim, but a fella has to dream and no one's gonna take away my foolish optimism.

This time, however, we are on our way home from a visit to the homeland and I am vexed by the fact that I desperately want NEED to go fishing.  When a slump like this hits, and the odds of wetting a line or feeling that tug are next to impossible for the foreseeable future, the faster I get through this trip and back to suburbia, the better off my mental status will be.

Random thoughts stream through my mind, and I glance over at the dog who is sleeping like the dead on my wife's lap.  Apparently, while staying at my nieces house for the last couple of days, he took multiple (severe) beatings from a cat named Ladybird.

Just let that sink in for a minute.  The cat's name is Ladybird.  And Ladybird beat his fool ass. More than once.  Delicious, eh?

It's clear to me that the nap is a way to hide from the shame.   I smile as I think of it.  I wish I had a video of the battles, but the truth is I'm not sure they would live up to the image in my minds eye anyway.  It does give me some satisfaction that my niece and her husband were able to witness the fracas...and both admit that the dog deserved every hit he took.

Rumor has it that he yelped and carried on like a little bitch after each beating.  ...Typical.

(Suddenly the bottle of wine and 6 pack of craft beer we brought them for their troubles seems a little chintzy)

Along with excessive speed and awesome mental images of Ladybird, music helps ease some of the angst.  When a funk like this hits, hard music has to be part of my therapy.  So with earbuds securely in place, and volume adjusted to drown out the sound of arguing children, I zip along and happily hum Pop Evil's latest offerings.  Followed by My darkest days, In This Moment ( .......Maria Brink.......yum), BuckCherry and the list goes on.

Somehow, the timing of Avenged Sevenfold's song Bat Country is perfect and offers another small amount of solace as I look to the west and see the  turbines of the wind farm (about 15 miles out) that marks right about where I turn north off of Hwy 18 to get to the Blue River.

The opening lyric goes like this:  "He who makes a beast of himself, gets rid of the pain of being a man"

(Its actually a Samuel Johnson if anyone cares, or even knows who the hell Samuel Johnson is....)

I've already passed by, or crossed over several trouty drainages with more to come, and more familiar exits to other fishy haunts.  The music builds to a crescendo and I finally turn north off of Hwy 151 and onto County Road P, which runs us along the western edge of Madison .  Rob Zombie is absolutely killing it with Superbeast.

At Klevenville there is a building that has gargoyles on it.  I love this building.  It's one of those landmarks that I look forward to.  It's fitting that Judas Priest's Living After Midnight ques up and I decide (again) that want gargoyles on my house. But...something tells me that they wouldn't look quite right on a raised ranch in a neighborhood not altogether different from the one in Edward Scissorhands.  So for now, I've decided against adding gargoyles (again).  Besides, the neighbors would start to talk...and nobody needs that.

A final crossing at Cross Plains, and I wonder how the trout are adapting to the stream re-route and bridge construction over the last couple of years on Black Earth Creek? Gonna have to find out this coming season.

We climb up and out of the watersheds into ag country for the final few miles to suburbia.  Soon this trip will be done.  Thank god.

As I pull into the driveway, Clutch sums it up perfectly....

"So I take a deep breath and count to ten,
Aint gonna let it get under my skin.
Take a deep breath and count to ten, 
Think of all the nice places that I've been"

Til Later,


Sunday, December 28, 2014

Laying Plans

It's that time of year where every blogger worth their salt puts together either an (A) Best of 2014 or (B) Fresh set of goals for 2015.

If you've paid attention to my musings (or lack there of) in 2014, you will probably agree when I sum up the last year by simply saying: "Been there, done that.  Moving on".

So, what is there to look for from MacLoosh Chronicles in 2015?  Who the f#*k really knows?? 2014 certainly didn't go as planned, so I am a little gun-shy on predictions.  I can offer this:  I do have a fairly major goal in mind though.  To get my daughter outdoors more.

Sound's pretty simple, eh?

Uh....yeah, Right....  "Simple".

Having just passed mile-marker 44 on the highway of life, I have learned one or two lessons along the way.  Of those lessons, two stand out consistently.

The first is all about expectations.  It occurs to me that when we set appropriate expectations, we find ourselves enjoying the ride much more than if we have set unrealistic expectations in the first place.  This has relevance in EVERY single thing we do.  (Admittedly, I am better at this than I used to be, but still a work in progress)

The second lesson is actually one that I wear on my shoulder as a constant reminder (a tattoo).  It is to be balanced.  Sometimes this is much harder than it seems as being balanced can occasionally be a minute by minute affair.  Hence the permanence of my constant reminder.

Perhaps I should adjust my expectations about balance???   Geeesch.......We'll have to save *that* discussion for another time (when I have enough whiskey on board to REALLY peel back the layers).

Where I'm headed with all of this psychobabble is that in order to get my daughter outside more (with the secret hope of turning her on to flyfishing): I have adjusted my expectations of how to go about it.  Don't get me wrong, I don't expect to change her.  I wouldn't want that and she wouldn't accept me trying to do that. Instead, I'd like to introduce more of my love of nature and the outdoors in hopes that she will develop her own love of the natural world.  I'm hoping a balanced approach (give a little / get a little) will be the ticket.

Today, a deal was struck.  She was itchy to burn up a gift card to "Justice", and I wanted to take a hike and scout a trout stream I've not fished yet.  She was to go for a hike, and not mention going to Justice once.  In return, I would endure the hell of sitting patiently in a (pre) teeny bopper mecca while she found the perfect thing to spend that gift card on.

The hike exceeded my expectations.  We had an absolutely wonderful time.  I put her in a pair of polarized sunglasses so she could see the fish in the water, and we set about business trying to scare up and pester every single trout on the stream. It's the off season, so we were safe from pissing off any nearby anglers. Along the way, a couple of really neat experiences fell into our laps.

One was a mouse who had fallen into the water (NOT by our doing).  We noticed him floating along, nearly dead and hoped to see a big trout rise up and take him.  The trout never came, but that didn't stop us from watching carefully and following him as far down stream as we could.

The second was an abandoned birds nest.  It was enough to generate somewhere in the range of 523 questions; which I fielded to the best of my abilities.

In between dead mice and abandoned birds nests, we just had fun.  She is 8, so the question topics ranged from whether or not a recent nick from shaving my face was healing properly?  to whether or not I like waffles?  (and why?)  Most importantly, the conversation was light and fun.

As promised, after our hike we set off for the mall.  The stream was a full 1/2 hour drive away from Madison, so we sang along to the radio and jabbered aimlessly about everything and nothing at all.

Once we hit the mall, we decided that we should get a little bit of food.  Neither of us had eaten lunch, and my wise old soul of a daughter suggested that before she took me to Justice that I should have some food in my belly to keep me from getting crabby.

A smart move on her part.  I can be an ugly SOB when hungry and shopping.  Satisfied, we made our way to the store. To hold up my end of the deal, I dutifully held her coat and found a place out of the way to watch and wait.

While there, I was stared up one side and down the other by multiple pre and early teenage girls.  They hated me.  I could tell by the snotty look, tilt of their head, and snap of hair as they turned on their heels to go the opposite direction.  They didn't hate me because I had done anything, but because they didn't know what else to do.  I suspect they hate everyone.

After one particular shopper had done this more than once, I *might* have given her a dose of her own medicine.  With a single look that told her I know that she is just insecure with herself, and followed up with an almost imperceptible smirk, I watched her crumble behind steely eyes (decorated in too much eyeliner) and whisk away.  She never came back to that area of the store.

This didn't go unnoticed by the other father who had sought refuge in the same area as me.  He congratulated me on having the guts to do what he had wanted to do.  I mentioned that I had been born a little asshole, and had simply gotten bigger over the years.  As we talked, we decided that if Justice REALLY wants to make a lot of money, they should install a bar in the back of the store.  A place where dads (and moms) could take refuge from the Taylor Swift set with a stiff drink.

My daughter eventually found a range of items she needed and I helped her narrow the selection down to the $25 she had on her gift card.

Happy as a little clam, she suggested we head home.  We left the mall and made for the UnForest, feeling pretty smug about having struck a workable deal for the day.

In all, we are off to a good start, even though we haven't officially hit 2015.  Balance and realistic expectations will surely set the tone.

Til later,


Saturday, November 22, 2014

The irony of vermin

The end of the Wisconsin inland trout season and fall is classically a tough time for me.

Usually, when September rolls around, I find myself in a panic of sorts. I count the days left in the season and match them against my work and family schedule. Then I try to figure out when I can sneak out to the stream for a last ditch attempt at catching troutzilla.  Despite my efforts, it just never seems like there is enough time to fish all those streams I never got around to fishing earlier in the season, and I usually end the season feeling unsatisfied.

Except this year.  I won't say that I was glad to see the season close, but I will say that it didn't bother me the way it has in years past.  In fact, the entire season was a touch on the anti-climatic side of things, and that doesn't seem to be weighing too heavily on me either.

What does that mean?  What is the lesson there? there one?  In yet another departure from my norm, the answers to those questions don't really seem to matter.  I've been busy.  It's that simple.  I'm old enough to recognize that some years are like that, and frankly, fishing is something that will ALWAYS play an important role in my life.

So...what have I been doing with my time?  Oh, you know....among other things, I have been mouse hunting.  I started a giant re-organization of my garage, complete with a purge of a whole pile of stuff that I had no idea I was still holding on to, and certainly didn't need.  In the midst of this project, a small colony of mice was discovered inside my garage.  By the looks of things, they weren't too deeply entrenched, and were just starting to get themselves settled in, so I set to the task of taking care of the infestation.

In classic MacLoosh form, it didn't go exactly as planned.  Please see exhibit A:

Yeah, yeah.  Don't judge my messy workbench...

After some technical difficulties, I did manage to thin the population considerably.  There may be one still milling about, but I am on his trail and will have everything buttoned up before long.  As for the garage project, I'm pretty satisfied with the end result.

The irony in all of this, is that after a spirited battle with the local vermin, I stumbled upon S.C.O.F's  Tommy Lynch's recent Fur and Feather Matinee, where he ties a kick ass mouse pattern.  It is also coincidental that when I did actually go fishing last season, my time was spent swinging big streamers, poppers, and mouse patterns.

Meaty flies are my latest obsession.

As if to offer proof that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, I set to the task of tying my own version of the white bellied mouse, and drew from my own recent experiences with the real McCoy when picking color.  Now, I have to wait for a very long time before I get to fish it...but I feel certain that when this baby hits the water...I'd better be holding on tight.

Perhaps most importantly, despite last season's lack-luster amount of time on the water, I am already getting stoked up for 2015.  It's gonna be good folks.  I can feel it.

Til later,