|
|
|
Exactly 16 Years, 6 Months ago
|
|
|
I'm sure if there was an organization that you supported w/ cash for years to fight on your behalf to protect your beloved trout water, who signed-off on out-of-season pulse flows on the USAC and those flows wiped out your favorite hatch, you would undertand how I feeled betrayed.
Now I know there has to be someone at Caltrout who could understand how I feel.
I've written to CT. e-mailed CT, but all I get back is several donation requests per year. All I can surmise is that's CT's focus is solely on recruting new members/money so they can "fight the good fight," and their current members do not warrant even a simple acknowledgement (other than a mass-mailed calendar, bumper sticker, or doodad that I'd rather they not purchase with my donation money). I'm no bean counter, but I think this a morally bad business model.
As to the dead horse thing. I'm not making any promises, but I'll try to do better in the future.
|
|
|
|
"Rivers course through my dreams, rivers cold and fast, rivers well-known and rivers nameless, rivers that seem like ribbons of blue water twisting through wide valleys, narrow rivers folded in layers of darkening shadow, rivers that have eroded down deep in a mountain's belly, sculpted the land, peeled back the planet's history exposing the texture of time itself."
— Harry Middleton (Rivers of Memory)
"Each night as I haul myself onto the back of county garbage truck no. 2, there is a familiar wind, some thread of moonglow or starlight, a splatter of dark rain on my skin, something that stirs my memory, and again, if even for a brief moment, I am on some mountain river, some stretch of bright water, full of possibilities, including the possibility of trout, perhaps one that, when hooked, will haul me in and out of time, in and out of life's mysterious and frightening, wondrous and incomprehensible continuum, even to the edges of the universe." -- Harry Middleton
|