There was a time in my life that my daily driver and guide van was a white 1992 Cadillac Hearse. I suppose I should add a little context to the circumstances that led me to this situation. My family owned and operated a funeral home and crematory. It just so happened that the vehicle I was driving before I got the hearse was an old white suburban. This suburban had two front seats, and a piece of plywood in the back. The piece of plywood made it easier to roll gurneys in and out of the back of the suburban. Yes, I was driving what we called a body bag truck before the hearse. These vehicles were perfect for car camping. They also afforded me plenty of extra space for rods, waders, and gear. I loved them.

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Last week I told Rickard that I had discovered a way of keeping my heart rate lower on long runs here in the tropics. I explained that by placing ice cubes in a head band, positioned against my forehead, I could keep more control over my heart rate. Rickard said it must be great not to care what other people think about you! I pointed out that I’m the only white man in Grik, I look like a combination of Santa Claus and a Yeti, and I’m running around an airfield in a tri suit. Ice strapped to my forehead is the least peculiar thing about me!

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I took the cast off my hand/wrist this week in the hope that I'd quickly be able to get back into my casting, but how wrong I was. At the end of our trip, once the pain had subsided, I had switched back to casting right handed, despite only having two fingers and a thumb free to grip the rod. I actually found that wrapping my 2nd finger and thumb around the rod, whilst having the index finger pointing up the blank, offered me the opportunity to make a half decent cast – mainly because I could haul normally with my left. As I was already back to casting right handed I expected things to get back to normal pretty quickly once the movement restrictions forced by the rigid medical cast was removed, but if anything my casting has got worse.

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Summer in Finland is short and furious, just like in any northern country. We have three months, absolute maximum four months, when everything has to happen. Birds laying eggs and have new generation ready to fly before autumn comes, berries, insects etc. Sun and warm has short period to do their magic.

And this same period is flyfishing season, that you can extend little bit from both ends, depending year. So extension part is depending luck, how spring comes and so on. So let's stick in main season.

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Sometimes less is more. After a day at work and feeling tired, empty, and even miserable, a long training session probably isn’t the best idea. There might be a couple of productive minutes in the session still, but pushing through a long session will likely result in many more unproductive minutes as well. Those bad minutes can put doubt in your mind, might lead to an injury, or in the worst case, ingrain some bad habits. Practice doesn’t make perfect—practice makes permanent. Good practice is the key to perfect. If we could practice perfect, we probably wouldn’t need practice.

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This was Catskills week. This of course is storied water, where the pioneers of American fly fishing developed their methods. It’s where the Dettes tied their flies, the Wulffs, Leonard Wright and the Darbees fished, and of course Theodore Gordon. I’m leaving out many  people  but you can visit  The Catskill Fly Fishing Center and Museum, in Livingston Manor, or virtually, to learn more about them and the history of our sport. It had rained hard for a few days last week and the three rivers I went to fish were running high. By the time we got up there on Monday, the Willowemoc and the Beaverkill had cleared but the volume was still up. Insect activity wasn’t enough to get fish to show. There were some residual  Hendricksons, early March browns,  grannom caddis and yellow sally stones as well. The fish weren’t responding. The Delaware was running too high to wade effectively.

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