The Strung Dispatch

This summer has been a blazer. We’re talking skin-cooking heat. Heat indexes in the low 100s for weeks on end, not a cloud or drop of rain in sight. With multiple conflicting obligations and in the face of this heat, chasing trout (or any fish species) has not happened, and I’ve found myself antsy and irritated with the weather and lack of time. 

As I sit here writing, a faint hint of fall has prematurely and falsely descended. It is early August, and true fall is still weeks away. Nonetheless, I’m flooded with a surge of dopamine and all the other feel-good neurotransmitters released by the tease of autumn. And it has given me pause and a serious case of introspection.

Seasons come and go, both temporally and in life. We cannot control them as much as we try. The more we try, the more frustrated we become. But if we learn to accept them, to embrace them - we can find joy in them no matter the circumstances. And it makes those times you can get on the water or in the field that much sweeter.

If you’re a parent of young children, embrace their begging to build legos, to read to them, to draw with them. Even when you feel like you have 1000 other things you need or want to do. Embrace their endless barrage of questions or constant need to be your shadow. It is our call during the season of parenting, and I can’t imagine any of us will look back and wish we had chosen to go fishing instead of spending time with our children.

Call a friend and catch up. Volunteer. Sit down and grab a magazine or book, and get lost in the words and images. Take time to cook and enjoy a home made meal.

What gives us life are these human moments. So cherish them.

In this issue, we have a return of some of our favorite writers, both of whom have learned to navigate seasons of life with poise and grace. C.H. Daniels explores the therapeutic and life-giving benefits of fly fishing and rivers on both veterans and volunteers in “The River Judges Not.” Edgar Castillo muses on what the tastiest game bird is and provides us with a delicious recipe to try. Our cover image by photographer Toby Nolan captures a moment of downtime between anglers, where meaningful conversation often forges the bond of friendship.

I hope this issue gives you respite and perspective, as it has for me.

Until next time,

Sammy

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We gather in the cool dawn along the banks of the Etowah River to greet them as they filter in across the damp, grassy clearing. The Etowah is hardly a river at this point, actually, more a large stream. But we label it so because humans are fond of taxonomy. It provides a sense of order. An indication of the relationship of things. The river has no such need and is indifferent to both the name and the classification.

The Veterans trickle in to learn about fly fishing, and we meet them with handshakes and good-natured banter, the call and response of human connections. My angler is cheerfully shepherded over to me by a fellow guide this morning, a guarded smile and a tentative handshake communicating uncertainty. Most of the veterans who spend a day on the water with us are looking for an escape. A day in the mountains learning the arcane craft of fly fishing.   Others, having previous experience, are simply looking to catch a fish, hopefully a memorable one. Still others come to the river hoping to find something more. 

I suspect that at some visceral level, humans understand the water perceives no difference between the sacred and the profane. The water judges not. The water labels not. Truest of friends, the river seeks no explanation and expects nothing in return. What is, is. What is not, is not. No amount of wishing or wanting can alter that simple fact and the river moves forward untroubled, a new river each time you step foot in it.

We review fundamentals, set up the gear he will need for the day, and head upstream. He has no gear of his own, but he has fly fished before and came up empty each time. At our first stop a small rainbow takes his nymph solidly, making me look like I know more than I do. Few things break the ice better than a pretty fish in the net and he starts to talk.

By lunch we have only put a few small fish in the net, but I now know that he has seen some action overseas, and despite being more than halfway to retirement, he doesn’t think he wants to stay in. He is married with kids and wants to be home but isn’t sure what he will do if he does retire. There is a weariness in his voice, as if he is looking to try out the words but is expecting to hear a different direction in response. Or perhaps has already received one. Sometimes people want to be heard, not told. I listen, then ask what he wants and listen some more, keeping my guidance on how to fish where the fish are. 

Late in the day he hooks and lands a large rainbow. For the first time, his face emanates unfettered joy. It is contagious and the high-five blossoms into an impulsive bear hug. There is no weariness in his tone now. Research suggests that fly fishing confers healing qualities on participants. The feedback we receive from our veterans, sometimes written and poignant, sometimes delivered spontaneously, pure and raw while on the water, validate such findings. It is a priceless gift and is almost certainly the reason why we have a cast of committed volunteers including professional guides and casting instructors.

He is talking freely when our day concludes. He tells me he is pretty certain he is going to retire and move back to his, and his wife’s, home state in the Northeast. Thanking me with a grin and emphatic handshake, he is sorry this means he probably won’t make it back to fish. “Best day I have had … in a very long time”, he says. I assure him we will be here if he changes his mind. But he will be fine. The thing is, the river may not always be there with you, but it will always be there for you.

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Editors Note: we encourage everyone to volunteer and give back, in whatever capacity that may be. If you’re interested in doing so but do not know where to start, send us a message and we will help point you in the right direction. For those interested in Veteran’s Fly Fishing specifically…

Veterans Flyfishing, Inc. is a 501c3 nonprofit based in north Georgia, dedicated to serving and supporting veterans and active-duty military members through the therapeutic art of fly fishing. As a chartered organization under Fly Fishers International, its mission is to teach and guide all veterans—regardless of when or where they served—in learning and mastering fly fishing, while offering a peaceful, restorative environment that fosters camaraderie, relaxation, and emotional wellness. Veterans Flyfishing provides all instruction and gear, and outings are completely free of charge to participants, with regular events held from October through June for military members.

Veterans Flyfishing welcomes both those seeking to benefit from its programs and those ready to offer support. Veterans interested in participating can sign up for outings and events directly via the organization’s website (www.veteransflyfishing.org). Individuals looking to volunteer or provide financial support can also find information and contact details online or reach out by phone at (706) 402-3525. You’ll be speaking directly with the current president Dr. John Mauldin (“Doc” is a Vietnam veteran and Bronze Star and Purple Heart recipient). Volunteers are always needed—whether experienced anglers or those simply wishing to help give back to the veterans who have served all of us.

To date, Veterans Fly Fishing has hosted over 1000 veterans from all over the country.

While this statement is subjective, America’s favorite upland gamebird to hunt - the quail - is also widely considered the most delicious to eat. Prized for their flavor and versatility, the quail is tender and moist when cooked correctly. All six species of coturnix are elegant in their own way, and all grace a plate quite nicely. A meal will demand wingshooters to shoot straight and often, using lots of ammunition, as there is never enough to satisfy a tailgate or table of hungry appetites with but a handful of these dainty birds. From the running quail of the southwest deserts to those that live in western brushlands and valleys, to the mountainous species, to the iconic Gentleman Bob of the Midwest and southern states, the quail is a plump, succulent, white-fleshed bird of mouthwatering proportions. 

I have hunted a variety of upland gamebirds across the country, and the eating has always been as important as the act of hunting. During my second trip to Arizona, my host and friend, Spencer, and I hunted cactus infested scrubland below a warm January sun. We found Gambel’s in arroyos and dried up washes. The dogs worked the arid land, pointing multiple coveys. We shot singles and doubles, interspersed with wild flushes from pressured groups of birds. The familiar rallying call, “Chi-ca-go,” gave away positions and by midafternoon we had amassed a sizable pile of quail.

That evening, we plucked feathers. One by one. The black topknots drooped as we examined the occasional specimen. The chestnut and cream bodied birds looked like resting knights with plumed headdresses. In short order, a heap of cleaned-and-breasted-out quail sizzled on the grill. Keeping it simple, Spencer sprinkled the quail with salt, pepper, and a special seasoning and a dozen minutes later, the slightly crispy and pinkish quail were placed on a yellow plate. We ate them caveman style with no sides. Famished from a long day of zigzagging thorny plants, we devoured them one after another and between mouthfuls rehashed flushes and missed shots. The subtle sweetness and a slightly nutty taste reinforced the wildness of the landscape in which these birds reside and made our palates crave more with each bite. An hour later, we each had eaten our fill. Only a pile of gnawed breast shells and scraps of meat were left. We went to bed with bellies full, ready for the next day’s chase. 

Here in the Midwest, the charismatic bobwhite quail hails as the prince of the uplands. Wingshooters will find Gentleman Bob and his ward of noble birds where crop fields intersect with woodlands, prairies, and brushy edges. Known for their tendency to “hold” and remain still for pointing dogs, bobwhite quail are a bird hunter’s favorite to hunt - and eat.

On a late wintry December day, I found myself hunting bobwhites across open grasslands. The French Brittany bounded about chasing scent, going on point on coveys holed up in island thickets. Whirring wings startled me as quail popped into the air. Shot pellets brought down a pair. Birds were brought to hand by the little Breton. By day's end we had collected seven bobs. At the truck we cleaned the birds and placed them in Ziplock bags, destined for the freezer.

Months later my wife had a craving for a Spanish dish and substituted bobwhite quail for chicken. The Codorniz y Arroz (Quail and Rice) recipe called for a variety of strong herbs and spices which were absorbed by the quail and rice. The plump quail meat provided a distinctly flavorful savory base for the saffron, cilantro, red peppers, and Goya seasoning packet. In the pan, the covey sized portions began transforming from a blush pink to an orange hue. Each sliver of meat had a bit of tangy heat with no compromise to the wild flavoring of the quail. 

The quail’s unmistakable flesh is revered by many, and is impacted by its diverse natural diet, including seeds, berries, vegetation, and insects. In turn, each quail species develops it’s own unique, robust, and appetizing flavor. Other gamebirds pale in comparison to a carefully plucked or skinless quail when it comes to overall taste. Whether cooked over a campfire, on a field stove, or in a kitchen, the quail, or rather any quail, is a nice balance of white and dark meat. Akin to a blending of chicken and duck, the quail’s cooking versatility is only hampered by one’s creativity. 

The “best” or “tastiest” gamebird is really a matter of personal preference. But, darn, the quail has to be near the top. Why wouldn’t the wild, little tubby gamebird that rockets out from under brush - so enjoyable to hunt and shoot - be even more desirable to the palate? It is easy to choose the gregarious quail as the top contender due to the simplicity of enhancing the already tasty meat with a simple assortment of rubs, sauces and seasonings. Want more proof? How about the ease of pairing practically any side with quail. Be it vegetables, pasta, or grain-based dishes, the quail lends itself to a variety of complimentary sides. Feasting on quail elevates the whole dining experience. There is a reason why higher-end restaurants offer up the birds on dinner menus. It gives those seeking a bit of refinement a chance to savor a pair of trussed quail (even if they’re from a game farm). How much better when they are wild. The only  known con is that a lot of quail must be shot to make any sizable dish. The solution - shoot more birds! 

History tells us that quail was a favorite among explorers, settlers, and pioneers who also relied on the bird as a subsistence food source. That prized culinary taste continues to this day. It is evident that the quail is hands down the tastiest of gamebirds, and that designation is strengthened by its ease and versatility of cooking. The quail’s delectable flavoring is enough to convince the most reluctant in eating wild game. Bon Appetit.

Yield: 3 Servings (3 quail each)

Prep Time: 10 Minutes

Cook Time: 35 Minutes

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As I have settled into my 40s, I’ve lost any interest in sun tans, and my disdain for stinky slimy sunscreen has grown even further. We’ve all probably spent days on the boat, feeling like our thighs, calves, and feet were quite literally cooking. No amount of sunscreen eliminates that scorched-skin feeling. 

Enter the Stio CFS (yes, named after the Cubic Feet per Second acronym) board pants. I was a bit skeptical when I first read about board pants, but they’ve quickly become my go-to summer pants. I’ve worn them wet wading, as a lightweight wader under layer (we all know that sticky leg feeling when you go pantless), on tailwater drifts, and as a no-see-um-mosquito-biting-fly barrier on the front of a skiff in the salt. They are weightless and feel like nothing on your skin. Paired with a good long sleeve sun shirt and buff, you can minimize your sun screen burden. They are rather comfortable, have just the right amount of stretch, lightweight, and have eliminated the skin-frying feeling of sun-exposed skin. They are breezy, dry rapidly, and pack down to nothing. And they look good. In short, they are awesome.

A few suggestions that would make these even better. Belt loops. For those of us who wear them wet wading, having a belt where we can attach a net holder, etc would be magnificent. And if they had a few more muted or earth-based colorways I wouldn’t complain. I liked the magnetic and mountain shadow colors thus far. Otherwise, I 100% recommend these pants.

Stio has graciously provided us with a pair to giveaway. Entry is free, and we only require you to be a subscriber to our newsletter, and that you provide a valid email when you enter for us to contact you if you are selected. We promise your email is not to be sold, shared, or spammed. 

** The giveaway is limited to men’s and women’s CFS board pants, in Mountain Shadow only, in the sizes available at time of selection, either Men’s or Women’s.

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