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Fly Fishing with Lefty

January 13, 2012 by · Leave a Comment

Lefty Kreh, the current great godfather of American fly fishing, has been on the scene for more than 50 years. Since his birthday falls right around now, it’s time for a couple Fishing with Lefty stories. Both are as true as my memory will allow.

About 20 years ago the Backcountry Flyfishing Association was having Lefty come for a weekend seminar. At the time I didn’t know it, but Lefty would fly in to town on Friday night, give the seminar on Saturday and Sunday, then leave late Monday afternoon. That way he would have time to fish on Monday morning.
Mel Schubert called me to tell me, “I’m taking Lefty fishing on Monday. Would you like to come with us?”
Did I want to go? I would have missed the birth of my children for that. Heck, I would have missed my own birth for that.

A few weeks later I found myself in the boat with God, incarnated as Lefty Kreh.

I was intimidated. My plan for the day was simple- keep my mouth shut, my ears open, and don’t do anything stupid. It was a simple enough plan, and should have been easy to carry out.

Mel poled. Lefty fished. I sat there, thrilled, following my plan, taking everything in like a hawk. The bite was stinky but it was a beautiful day.

Around 10 o’clock or so Lefty stopped to rest. It was then I made my mistake. At the time Lefty worked for Sage fly rods, and he was using one of their products. “How do you like that rod, Lefty?” I asked.
“It’s a great piece of equipment,” he said. “Pick it up and try it.”

You didn’t follow the plan, John.

“No. I don’t want to embarrass myself,” I said.

Lefty said, “Sage pays me to put that rod in people’s hands. Pick it up and try it.”

Reluctantly, I picked it up. Before I did anything I looked at the leader. There was a wind knot in it. I said nothing, and cast the rod a few times. It really was a great piece of equipment. Then I handed it back to the maestro.

He looked at the leader and said, “Johnny, you put a wind knot in my leader.”

I said, “That was there when I picked up the rod.”

He gave me a hard look and said, “I don’t know if I should believe you or not.”

I said, “Lefty, you can believe what you want but I’m telling you, that was there when I picked up the rod.”

Even God gets wind knots sometimes. I’ve never concerned myself with them overly since then, figuring if Lefty gets them everybody will. I just check the leader periodically and if there’s a knot in there I take it out or replace the section. It was a valuable learning experience.

Several years pass, and the fly fishing club books Lefty again. Now I know the drill, so I call him and ask if he wants to fish with me on Monday. He did. We booked the day.
My son Maxx, then eight years old, attended the seminar with me. I got the idea he should come with us, and asked the maestro if that was OK. It was.
Monday morning Lefty, Maxx, and I launched the boat. There was a school of big redfish in the Indian River Lagoon at the time. Lefty still had the eight-weight Sage. I went looking for those fish, without success. All morning.

Noon came and went and we still hadn’t found the fish. Giving up, I cranked the motor and started to run. By divine intervention the school surfaced 100 yards ahead of me. It was an incredible spectacle, hundreds of 20 to 30 pound reds slamming a big school of big mullet. I poled Lefty into casting range. “I’ve never seen this before,” he said.

He had a little bendback tied on, maybe a size 2. The fish, intent on the big mullet, completely ignored it. I said to him, “Lefty, your fly is too small.” He said, “I didn’t bring any big flies.” “I have some,” I said.

I got off the tower, dug out my big fly box, and handed it to him. He pulled out a white Deceiver, half a chicken on a 3/0 hook. His hands were shaking as he tied it on.

Ready again, I poled back to the fish. You know, if you go from a little #2 fly to a big, wind-resistant 3/0 fly, your casting stroke will have to slow down. In his excitement Mr. Kreh forgot this. His backcast was hitting the water and he was swearing at himself. “I can’t cast this fly with this rod. This is a ten-weight fly!”

I thought to myself, “I could cast that fly with that rod. This is Lefty Kreh. Oh my God, Lefty has buck fever!”

I was dumbfounded.

He got over it quickly. The fly soon shot out into the fish and one nailed it immediately. I eventually pulled it into the boat. Lefty was thrilled. At 28 pounds it was the biggest he’d ever gotten on fly!

This was also a valuable learning experience for me. I’m a fishing guide. If Lefty Kreh gets buck fever, there’s a good chance anyone else I ever have in my boat might get buck fever too.

This is why we go fishing. If you didn’t get that rush of adrenaline you’d be better off bowling or playing golf.

Lefty has taught LOTS of people LOTS about fly fishing. The two most valuable lessons he taught me was when I was out with him, fly fishing with Lefty.

Thank you, Lefty! Happy birthday!

John Kumiski
http://www.spottedtail.com

 

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2012. All rights are reserved.

 

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Canoe Camping at Canaveral National Seashore

November 3, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

Thanksgiving hurtles towards us. This holiday kicks off Florida’s finest camping season.

At the north end of the Mosquito Lagoon a labyrinth of islands, channels, and shallow ponds hosts loads of  wading birds, dolphins, redfish, and seatrout. Canaveral National Seashore administers a dozen National Park Service campsites here. Accessible only by water, these are “wilderness” sites. A few have a fire grate and a picnic table. The others have space for your tents, and that’s about it.

A spectacular sunrise over the Mosquito lagoon.

I’ve gone camping here by canoe and kayak many times over the years. While sometimes the fishing hasn’t been good, other times it has been outstanding. Either way, I always have an enjoyable time.

A Typical Trip
Obtain the necessary camping permit from Canaveral National Seashore, Turtle Mound station. Launch your boats at River Breeze Park in Oak Hill, or at Turtle Mound on the east side of the lagoon.

After dinner roast marshmallows and watch the sun set. After it gets dark you can stargaze for hours. During the winter months Orion (the easiest of all constellations to recognize), Gemini, Taurus, and Canis Major are all clearly visible. Sirius, in Canis Major, is the brightest star in the sky! If you’re lucky you’ll see satellites, or a meteor streaking across the heavens. You certainly don’t get to see meteors every day.

A lovely Mosquito Lagoon sunset, from a different vantage on a different day.

After breakfast go fishing. Fishing being fishing, sometimes it’s great and sometimes you’ll get skunked. But the wading birds will be thick. You will see pelicans, ospreys, and maybe a bald eagle, and dolphins are commonly encountered. If you don’t catch any fish, cook some hot dogs over a blazing campfire. When you roast a wiener on a stick over an open fire, they are as good as hot dogs can be!

A Warning
You can expect raccoons to visit your campsite while you’re here. Make sure to pack your food in raccoon proof containers. A hard plastic cooler with a rope tied around it works well. On one trip we left our s’mores fixings in a shopping bag, unattended on a table, for less than five minutes. A raccoon quickly found and tried to steal the bag. The chocolate and crackers fell out as he ran off, but he made a successful getaway with all of our marshmallows.

A Quick Look at the Fishing
The most common gamefish here are redfish and seatrout. A ten pound spinning outfit is appropriate. Effective lures include soft plastic jerkbaits, weedless gold spoons, and small popping plugs. The area is shallow with a lot of grass, so weedless lures are a must. Popular natural baits include shrimp and cut mullet. Small crabs can also be effective.

A younger Maxx casts to a redfish in the Mosquito Lagoon.

I kayak fish this area a lot, ordinarily using fly tackle. The preferred technique is to paddle along shorelines, searching for fish to which to cast the fly. Particularly during the cooler months (when camping is most enjoyable) fishing for both reds and seatrout can be excellent.

On the very first camping trip my boys and I made here we paddled over a school of at least 200 redfish. We continued on to our campsite and dropped off our gear, then went right back to where the fish were. Between us we got a dozen fish, many on fly tackle. If you spend some time hunting for fish here usually you will find some.

Redfish this size are quite typical of what you will find here.

Florida saltwater fishing laws apply here. If you choose to fish you will need a saltwater fishing license.

Nuts and Bolts
Canaveral National Seashore lies northeast of Orlando about one hour’s drive. To camp there you must obtain a permit (fee required) from their office at Turtle Mound, on Florida route A1A south of New Smyrna Beach. They accept reservations by telephone one week in advance, and especially during the busy spring season reservations are strongly recommended.

Their website URL is http://www.nps.gov/cana/. Click on the “Activities” button. Then click on the “camping” button to see their camping brochure. The phone number at the Turtle Mound station for more information about camping or reservations is 386-428-3384 Ext. 10.

The different campsites have varying capacities. Some sites, like the two on Orange Island, can fit three small tents maximum. Others, like the spoil island campsites, could hold 20 or more people. Remember, these are unimproved sites with no fresh water, electricity, or toilet facilities. If you don’t bring what you need you won’t have it out there.

Another point to keep in mind is that adjacent to Canaveral National Seashore is the Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge. No camping is allowed here at any time. So if you intend to camp on a spoil island in the Mosquito Lagoon, be sure to find the right one.

While this piece emphasizes paddling to the campsites, there are no restrictions on motor vessel use here. You can easily use a boat with a motor to gain access to any of the CNS campsites, or to go fishing. You will still need the national park service permit to camp, of course.

The Mosquito Lagoon wasn’t named on a whim. The bugs can be nasty when the weather is warm, so the best time to camp is from about Thanksgiving through about Easter. The prudent camper will bring bug spray at whatever time of year they camp, anywhere in Florida.

Remember to bring sunblock and plenty of water. Have fun, and enjoy your trip!

John Kumiski
http://www.spottedtail.com

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2011. All rights are reserved.

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Gravel

August 15, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

Most folks fishing with me in Alaska walk on gravel all day long but never look at it. Rocks is just rocks to them.

A small sample of Goodnews River gravel.

When I walk on gravel I see a kaleidoscope of color, form, shape, texture. I feel a deep sense of geology, history, archeology, biology. In the right light the visual richness of Goodnews River gravel almost overwhelms me.

Millions, tens of millions, hundreds of millions of years ago sediments settled. Magma cooled. Volcanoes erupted. All these processes form rock. Heat and pressure change rock that’s already there.

Mountains were thrust upward by the motion of continents. Erosion wears them down. The river carries pieces of mountains towards the sea, shaping and polishing them as it goes. The river deposits the pieces in enormous piles we call gravel bars. I find pieces of mountains when I walk on those bars.

I wonder how long it takes a piece of gravel to travel from a mountain top to a riverside bar where I might find it. No one has started a gravel tagging program.

This fish, or what’s left of it, was not processed by a bear.

I find beautiful pieces of rock in the gravel. Unusual shapes and intrusions fascinate me. And occasionally, if you look enough, you find aboriginal artifacts.

Men have lived here in Alaska from the time of the Bering land bridge, about 12,000 years ago. Until Columbus arrived, these people lived in the stone age. Their tools and implements look much like the rest of the gravel. You have to look at a lot of rocks before you begin to notice those that are different, those that look worked.

I find a curiously hollowed out rock. Mike Gorton tells me it’s a whale oil lamp. It almost certainly predates Columbus’s arrival in the new world.

I find a stone. The working of men on one side is obvious. I take it back to camp and ask Mike what it might be. He says it’s an anchor stone, used by aborigines to anchor their skin covered boat. Thousands of years have passed since it was last used. Did the owners lose it when its tether snapped while anchored, or was it dropped, broken, and then discarded?

Footprints in the gravel indicate a large mammal has passed. Most of the time those mammals are bears. Their scat and footprints litter every gravel bar in the Goodnews River system, hundreds of miles of shoreline.

You find bear tracks on every gravel bar in the Goodnews River system.

Bear scat releases nutrients into the environment that salmon have carried into the river from the Pacific Ocean. Salmon act as an enormous nutrient cycling system, although that system is nowhere near as efficient as it was before dams, logging, agriculture, mining, and commercial fishing brought Pacific salmon perilously close to being endangered.

Salmon lay their eggs in gravel. It’s astonishing how they alter the river bed, digging the holes we call redds in which to lay their eggs. On the downstream side of the redds big humps of gravel alter the current flow, and at low water nearly form hazards to navigation.

As the hen salmon drop their eggs and buck salmon their milt, dolly varden and rainbow trout dart in to partake of the bounty of eggs. Salmon develop those gnarly teeth to fight off the egg predators. Apparently they work well enough that salmon continue returning to rivers that have not been too severely altered.

As I walk on a gravel bar, looking for interesting stones, all these thoughts and others only half-formed pass through my mind. A gravel bar is so much more than just a pile of rocks.

Purple asters, or a close relative, on a Goodnews River gravel bar.

John Kumiski
http://www.spottedtail.com/

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2011. All rights are reserved.

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An Alaska Fishing Guide’s Day

August 4, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

The generator fires up, waking me. It’s cold in my house.

Soon, in the midst of a sweet dream, my alarm goes off. I turn it off and fight to wake up. Rain patters on the fabric of my weatherport, trying to make me drowse again. I peel off my sleeping bag, lurch toward the dining room.

Low clouds sprinkle. The air moves enough to wave the willows. The mountains are visible, but only at their bases. My breath forms little clouds when I exhale.

The wait staff greets me at the dining room. Most mornings they’re cheery but today they seem to be in the same state as me- eyes bleary and watering as we all struggle to wake up. The season is old, and folks are feeling it. A full coffee urn does its best to help us clear the cobwebs.

Guides keep entering, slurping java, sausages, and pancakes. Typical morning guide banter, full of friendly curses and BS, fills the air.

In the drying room everyone dons waders and raincoats, preparing for the weather. I bilge the boat, prime the bulb, and start the engine. It takes a few tries. It’s cold, too.

The fishermen come down to the water, carrying equipment and looking for their guides. We get everyone pointed in the right direction.

On any given day my anglers could be world class or rank novices. It’s my job to teach them about fish and fishing, to entertain and educate. Catching fish is important too, but fortunately in Alaska that’s usually pretty easy to do.

We head off to fish. At the first hole I see they’re novice fly fishers. They don’t cast very well. Some basic fly casting instruction occurs. One guy gets it, the other not so much. If he could cast 25 feet he could get a bite, but he’s struggling.

I keep working with him. By God’s grace a fish eats his fly and hooks itself. I’m more relieved than he, knowing it’s a confidence builder for him. We net and admire the fish, a big male silver salmon. Glad my angler is off and running, I string the fish.

Soon it’s lunchtime. We’ve had to work for every fish. The weather hasn’t improved and we’re dripping. I think detect a shiver or two in my fisherman. We head back to camp for soup.

Hot and delicious, the soup warms us. It’s not raining in the dining room, but the floor is wet from dripping jackets and waders. No one hurries back out, glad to be in a warm refuge.

Reluctantly we return to the boat. It’s still gray but the rain has stopped. It may be a nice afternoon if the rain doesn’t start again. In my pagan way I say a prayer.

We stop at the first hole. Wham! Wham! Double hookup! Now that’s what I’m talking about. Two more fish for the box. The string is getting heavy.

We continue fishing. It’s steady if not spectacular. We don’t find any more doubles. A patch of blue appears.

Soon blue covers more sky than the clouds do. What’s that flaming ball up there? It’s hot!

Five fifteen. Time to head back. I drop my anglers off, congratulating them, thanking them for a great day. They do the same to me.

On my knees, I cut into the first salmon. There’s no one else around. I hope no bears come. Soon the bucket is full of lovely orange sided slabs, sides of recently caught salmon.

After fueling my vessel I head to the vacuum packer. Soon the filets are wrapped in plastic and nestled in the freezer. I wash down the boat, get out of my boots.

The dining rooms are full, guests in one, staff in the other. The wait staff scurries, ant-like, efficient. A piece of salmon graces my plate. It was caught hours earlier. It is delicious.

After dinner we meet with tomorrow’s anglers, discussing strategies. Do you drink coffee? Do you have tackle?

Eight PM and finally off work. The weather is nice. The sun is out! A group of us head to Lookout Mountain. The walk is strenuous but short, the views breathtaking. All too soon it’s time to return to camp.

Face washed, teeth brushed, I nestle in my sleeping bag. I want to read, to fall asleep. It’s late, and the generator comes on early tomorrow. I’m soon in another world.

The generator fires up, waking me. It’s cold in my house.

John Kumiski
http://www.spottedtail.com/

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2011. All rights are reserved.

 

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On the Plane to Goodnews

July 15, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

The Report from Spotted Tail 7/1/11

The DC-3 roars over mountain peaks jutting into the sunlight, reaching for the heavens through a thick layer of clouds. They still have some thick snow fields.

Where cloud meets snow.

We just passed a volcano, bulging lava dome visible, wisps of smoke rising from the cone.

Aboard the aircraft are 19 souls headed to Goodnews. I know some of them, repeat anglers from past years, all good people. Others are new to me. I’ll know all of them by the end of the week.

I’m pretty beat up from traveling, from lack of sleep. I wonder if I’ll have to/get to fish today?

Embrace simplicity.

Life is great and I love my work!

Life is short- go fishing!

John Kumiski
http://www.spottedtail.com/

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2011. All rights are reserved.

 

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Doctors Interfere with Fishing Time This Week- Mosquito Lagoon Fishing Report

May 7, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

The Report from Spotted Tail 5/7/11

Upcoming Events-

-NASA managers have retargeted space shuttle Endeavour’s launch to no earlier than Monday, May 16. If Endeavour launches on May 16, liftoff would be at 8:56 a.m.

-On May 21 I’ll be giving a seminar called Fly Fishing for West Coast Tarpon at Mosquito Creek Outdoors, starting at 10 AM. Tom Van Horn will also be giving a tarpon seminar aimed at east coast fish.

On Monday my anglers were Rick and Randy Krok, father and son. Some confusion reigned in the Krok vehicle during the ride to River Breeze, resulting in their being rather late for our appointment. No problem, we just started a little late.

We rigged a couple of fly rods, then checked out five spots north of George’s Bank. We only saw fish at one of them. I decided to run down to Tiger Shoal.

We found a school of redfish there. The Kroks had trouble showing them the fly. Rick asked, “Is it possible for us to get our plug rods? They’re in the car.”

We ran back to River Breeze and got the rods, then returned to Tiger Shoal. We managed to get a red, a nice fish of about 10 pounds, on a mullet chunk. We saw quite a few fish but never got any good casts to any of them. Finally Rick got a dink trout on the last cast of the day on a DOA Shrimp.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday I had appointments with a couple of doctors at various facilities for my annual physical and to deal with a painful but minor problem. Hopefully that problem is now a thing of the past. Gracias a Deus!

Embrace simplicity.

Life is great and I love my work!

Life is short- go fishing!

John Kumiski
http://www.spottedtail.com/

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2011. All rights are reserved.

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Tarpon Poem

April 28, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

This will hopefully be published every year at this time, in perpetuity.

an ideal world
hot sun, blue sky, clear, slick water
sweat
a graphite wand, a sliver of steel, a wisp of feathers

a flash of silver breaks the mirror
then another, and another
feathers land in water
magically, they come to life

line tightens
mirror smashed
display of power
water flies, gills flare, body shakes, shudders
again, and again, and again

the beast tires
arms ache
hand grasps jaw
feathers removed
great fish swims free once more

tarpon
God’s greatest gift to fly fishers

John Kumiski
http://www.spottedtail.com/

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2011. All rights are reserved.

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A Time Machine or a Mulberry Tree?

April 12, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

In the yard of the house where I grew up was a mulberry tree. My sister and I loved that tree. It wasn’t much for shade but every June it produced a rich crop of fat, sweet, juicy, delicious, dark purple berries. Cheryl and I would spend hours under that tree. We’d get purple fingers and mouths from gorging ourselves on berries. Those that somehow escaped immediate consumption Mom would cook into pancakes and muffins. Yes, we loved that tree and its delicious berries.

We weren’t the only ones. My mom would have to field the heat tossed her way by irate neighbors whose laundry, drying on the clothesline, had been spattered by the purple droppings of berry-stuffed birds. That tree was like a magnet to them during fruiting time. They always took full advantage of the tree’s generosity.

Time marches on, and Cheryl and I lost our tree as well as our youth. Mulberries were out of my mind, at least, for quite a long time. I had a wife, and a family, and other concerns were a little more pressing.

Then we moved to Chuluota.

One of our neighbors has a mulberry tree in their yard, right along the road. It’s in the public domain!

Here in central Florida it starts fruiting about the end of March. It’s fruiting right now! I’m typing this with purple-stained fingers! Burp. Excuse me!

Picking berries off that tree is like stepping on to a time machine. I’m not any younger but it brings me right back to Medford and picking those berries with my sister.

Truly, the simple things in life are often the most precious.

John Kumiski

Home- Spotted Tail Outdoors and Travel

All content in this blog, including writing and photography, is copyright John Kumiski 2011.

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Bad Days

March 29, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

Most of us have seen the bumper sticker that says, “A bad day fishing beats a good day at work.” This is undeniably true most of the time. A sunny day in God’s great outdoors always beats a day working at some job you may not like.

But anyone who spends much time outdoors has had some miserable days afield, days when it rained a deluge all day, days when they were wet, cold, tired, and hungry. Usually on these days the fish don’t bite or the birds don’t fly. Days like this simply make us appreciate the good days we have a whole lot more. They don’t qualify as bad days.

What then, qualifies as a bad day outdoors?

Tommy Locke told me of a fly fisherman who had graced the bow of Tommy’s skiff while casting to tarpon. The gentleman wore nothing more than a Speedo thong for protection. The unfortunate man sank a 3/0 tarpon fly to the feathers right between his family jewels, painful just to think about. That fellow had a Bad Day.

I once read a tale about a steelhead fisherman. This poor soul was fly fishing when he had what at first he thought was a bite. He quickly realized the heavy weight at the end of his line, although moving, was not a fish. He managed to swing whatever it was near to the bank down below him, then walked down to see what it was.

To his shock and dismay it was a young woman, quite dead. His fly was hooked on a finger of her glove. Our angler was suddenly having a Very Bad Day.

On an otherwise lovely day, a former local guide went to grab a tarpon at boatside. Not only did the fish choose that moment to jump one more time, breaking the guide’s nose, the fish also managed to bury a hook in his neck, necessitating a trip to the hospital. This was a Bad Day.

Fishermen have accidents sometimes. They get stung by catfish, stingrays, and jellyfish. Their boats sink. They get hooked. They get bitten. They get struck by lightning.

So any day that you get home safely, without the use of a first aid kit (You do carry a first aid kit, don’t you?), a trip to the hospital or police station, or worse, is not a bad day, regardless of how few fish were caught or how miserable the weather was.

Count your blessings, and remember, life is great!

John Kumiski
http://www.spottedtail.com

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2011. All rights are reserved.

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Canoeing in Maine (part 2)- A Memoir

February 16, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

A Ride With Divine

The first year we went to Maine we headed for the town of Springfield, where the put-in was for this particular trip. We were so up and excited, we drove over 100 miles past the exit we wanted and never realized it until we saw the sign for Baxter State Park. Oh, well!

After we unloaded our gear at the put-in I had to drive the car to the take-out and hitchhike back almost 100 miles. I got several short rides. Then this old beater driven by this incredibly ugly woman, who reminded me very much of Divine, stopped. She asked, “Where you going?” “Springfield,” I said. “Get in.” I did, and off we went.

We made small talk for a minute or two, and then she asked me if I wanted a beer. When I said, “Sure,” she stopped at a country store and and bought some. I began to realize I might have a problem.

As she drank and drove she started coming on to me, telling me how lonely she was away up there in Maine. The repulsive creature wanted me to poke her right then and there, in the back seat of her Gremlin! She hadn’t bought enough beer, I’ll tell you that.

All I wanted from this chick was to be delivered to Jimmy. When we got to Springfield she very graciously drove me about twelve miles down the dirt road that I was sure that I would have to walk, practically right up to the canoe. I thanked her and hopped out of the car, into the canoe. What happened to the still unsatisfied Divine look-alike remains a mystery. Jim and I were off on our first big canoe adventure!

she wanted to have sex with this?

The following year the plan was different. It was a BOLD plan! Jim and I would drive to Fort Kent where we would hire a pilot and fly into Fifth St. John’s Pond. Originally I objected to this plan on financial grounds (I couldn’t afford it) but Jim said he’d pay, so the deed was done.

The pilot dropped us off at Fifth St. John’s Pond. When the plane flew off without us I was jubilant! As soon as we hit the shore I took off all my clothes and laid out to get a full body tan. Jimmy mumbled something about my being incredibly rude, but within five minutes he was buck naked too.

John Kumiski
http://www.spottedtail.com/

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2011. All rights are reserved.

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