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An Ass was being driven along a road leading down the mountain side, when he suddenly took it into his silly head to choose his own path.
They who will not listen to reason but stubbornly go their own way against the friendly advice of those who are wiser than they, are on the road to misfortune. Some days later, while stalking his prey in the forest, the Lion was caught in the toils of a hunter's net.
One day as he sat watching the Sheep and the quiet forest, and thinking what he would do should he see a Wolf, he thought of a plan to amuse himself.
His Master had told him to call for help should a Wolf attack the flock, and the Villagers would drive it away. As he expected, the Villagers who heard the cry dropped their work and ran in great excitement to the pasture.
Then one evening as the sun was setting behind the forest and the shadows were creeping out over the pasture, a Wolf really did spring from the underbrush and fall upon the Sheep.
A Gnat flew over the meadow with much buzzing for so small a creature and settled on the tip of one of the horns of a Bull. Two Travellers, walking in the noonday sun, sought the shade of a widespreading tree to rest.
A Stork of a very simple and trusting nature had been asked by a gay party of Cranes to visit a field that had been newly planted. The Sheep in the pasture were much astonished and amused at the Pig's behavior, and followed the Shepherd and his charge to the pasture gate. Two men were traveling in company along the road when one of them picked up a well-filled purse.
We cannot expect any one to share our misfortunes unless we are willing to share our good fortune also. One day as the Lion walked proudly down a forest aisle, and the animals respectfully made way for him, an Ass brayed a scornful remark as he passed.
Jupiter saw what simple and foolish creatures they were, but to keep them quiet and make them think they had a king he threw down a huge log, which fell into the water with a great splash. Now there was a certain old Owl who had become very cross and hard to please as she grew older, especially if anything disturbed her daily slumbers. But the Grasshopper answered saucily that he had as much right to his place in the sun as the Owl had to her place in the old oak. The wise old Owl knew quite well that it would do no good to argue with the Grasshopper, nor with anybody else for that matter.
Just then an immense shadow blotted him out entirely, and the next instant a Lion struck him down with a single blow. But just then the royal Cat spied him, and the next instant, the Rat knew he was not quite so important as an Elephant. The stones were flying thick and fast and the Boys were enjoying themselves very much; but the poor Frogs in the pond were trembling with fear.
At last one of the Frogs, the oldest and bravest, put his head out of the water, and said, "Oh, please, dear children, stop your cruel play! In a spell of dry weather, when the Birds could find very little to drink, a thirsty Crow found a pitcher with a little water in it. The scene opens back up with Gail sitting out on her patio in her white thin shirt which is tied in the front and her jean shorts. Gail leaves the scene as 'Shaniqua' turns her back away from the camera seemingly sucking on the dildo as the fans go wild cheering."Live from New York City, SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE! Based on stylistic comparisons such as striations inside body contours and the presentation of horns in twisted perspective, several Paleolithic art experts, including the first curator of the Chauvet Cave, Jean Clottes, have accredited the Portuguese friezes to the early Solutrean of about 20,000 years ago3. In Portugal, the government did the opposite a€“ plunging ahead with a project destined to destroy the nationa€™s oldest cultural heritage by completing a 300-million-dollar dam whose reservoir will flood a valley packed with dozens of art sites spread over at least 17 kilometers. Yet construction continues - even on holidays - and the water is about to rise another hundred meters.
A male ibex with his head shown in two positions, as if he were turning to watch the female behind him. As we drove up to a sentry box perched on the lip of a road into the vast, unnatural gashing of mountains at Foz CA?a, it was hard to tell if the young guard blocking us in a crisp red and gray uniform represented a well-heeled security service or an elite military unit - but it was plain that bluff and sweet talk wouldn't get us far.
The next time the car eased over the knuckles of a road crisscrossed by up-ended strata, past empty huts built just of stacked slabs, and jostled between overhanging and plunging cliffs until an avalanche of tailings from an old quarry almost blocked the path. Here was one of the places of grandeur where our ancestors had first grasped visions and then concretized them by hewing - and sometimes painting - images into rock panels.
As I pushed forward and the river grew shallower, turtles became so numerous that their stacks toppled like circus acts from the brinks of submerged cliffs. As a draftsman, I could feel empathy for the beast flowing into the hands that had etched her. This first frieze stood at a fitting point, practically where the reservoir yielded to the original rapids and long pools of the virgin river. Far away across the moonscape of rutted ramps, knots of men stood before tunnels as fleets of dump trucks, made so tiny by distance that they only gave away their magnitude by over-sized wheels, eased to the brink of platforms, and added avalanches to tailings. Above us, the titanium-white cleanliness of the cement plant's towers stood in bold contrast to the devastation, like a phalanx of gigantic chess-rooks bunched for the kill. According to press articles, the dam-builders had recognized him as the true discoverer of Portugal's first reported Paleolithic engravings, at nearby Mazouco, even though the doctoral student's mentor, Professor Vitor Oliviera Jorge, had stolen his thunder.7 They had given Rebanda a job as their obligatory salvage archaeologist when the new doctor somehow couldn't get a position on a faculty. In return, all he'd had to do was wait till their concrete curtain had gone up and its reservoir had risen into a sea so voluminous and costly that its drainage would have been unthinkable. My goateed interlocutor smirked as he told me I could try looking for the doctor at the complex built for the previous dam, 15A kilometers downstream. But I'd hit pay dirt: the fact that I might hear Rebanda's mea culpa was more than Ia€™d hoped for. Sebastian elected to wait outside and embarked on Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth as I knocked at the locked door.
Still, I complimented her on her English, sympathized with them for having to put up with this hierarchical bother, and kept spinning innocuous questions, while she kept waiting for me to go. When Rebanda's secretary came out again, to see if she could get either me a€“ or her boss - to give up as the wait grew embarrassingly long, I asked her what the round silos with tipped roofs on the hills had been used for.
But the next time, after they had gotten used to my rounds, I stepped inside and admired a sequence of two eight-foot-tall maps full of pins. Something was wrong: in addition to the constellations of pins extending for 17 kilometers upstream from the construction site, there were dozens downstream, along the reservoir behind the dam just outside! Finally, so many hours had passed, and she'd informed the doctor so many times that I was still hanging around, that I was forced by the sheer need for new scenery to vary my route, and drifted through empty rooms. The only thing the reports agreed on was that Rebanda had somehow discovered the flooded portion of Canada do Inferno by the previous autumn22 a€“ asking the EDP to lower the Pocinho reservoir by just 3 meters in November 1994 so he could study the engravings.23 a€?They told me it was too expensive,a€? Rebanda had told the New York Times. So who had shot these photographs, which looked like they had been taken when the sites were dry vegetated hillsides instead of among the muck and bare banks below a fallen waterline? I realized that the photos of the dry sites might have been taken before the Pocinho Dam, which had flooded them, had even been completed a€“ over 12 years before! UNESCO had suggested Clottes, who, in an uncanny convergence of good and bad karma, was taken on a whirlwind tour of the tip of the iceberg at Canada do Inferno, then immediately whisked to a press conference in Vila Nova do Foz CA?a on Dec 16th, 199428 a€“ just two days before the discovery of the Chauvet Cave that catapulted him, as its first interpreter and protector, from the summit of the French archaeological establishment to world fame. But Clottesa€™ judgement was mixed, confirming that the art could be dated on stylistic grounds to the early Solutrean or even late Gravettian of twenty to twenty-four thousand years ago while suggesting that flooding the valley might be the best way of protecting it, since Portugal was ill-equipped to protect such widely dispersed panels from vandals!29 a€?There is no easy solution,a€? he told a reporter.
What the press forgot to emphasize with quite as much fervor was the fact that Clottes had prefaced his Solomonic verdict by saying, a€?Whatever happens, the engravings must be preserved and not be damaged.a€? Clottes might have felt that he could safely pass the buck because no art conservationist could honestly guarantee the engravingsa€™ fate once they were subjected to currents carrying abrasives, burial under the petrifying alluvia that accumulates behind dams,33 and the worlda€™s most destructive solvent a€“ water, which would dissolve pigments and destabilize rock that had proven its resistance to aerial conditions over tens of millennia.
While chatting up the gaunt fellow traveller at the construction site, Ia€™d pretended to make small talk by asking engineering questions, including one about the depth of the sediment that had accumulated behind the Pocinho dam.
The irony of it was that Clottesa€™ efforts to be honest without irritating his hosts had been the spark that the French diplomats had dreaded. Despite the fact that the great prehistoriana€™s reputation would remain largely intact, and with good reason, in much of the rest of the world,34 the Portuguese intelligentsia began to shun him.
A€ propos of CA?a, two Portuguese rock art researchers, who couldna€™t stomach Clottes after his press conference, ironically echoed him by telling me, confidentially, that flooding the engravings could still be a blessing since it would save them from graffiti and those boogeymen of archaeologistsa€™ dreams, prowling collectors. My guess is that he was so beleaguered by advisers that he was just trying to get out of an awkward situation as quickly, judiciously and diplomatically as possible. I mentioned to Rebanda that I had just attended the lecture on Chauvet, that I even had a videotape of it right there in my camera. So it's true, I thought, drowning the site was Rebanda's solution to the problem of ownership of photographic rights. But then, what about Rebanda's self-serving talk of photo credits, not to mention the engravings already submerged by the dam at the doorstep a€“ and his belief that the engravings were doomed to be flooded? Strangely enough, I could again see it being both ways, since the roots of tragedy are self-deception and entwined motives. He must have realized that I was rooting for him to pull himself out of his tailspin, because suddenly he decided. Upon leaving, Sebastian asked to check out the Pocinho dam, so I drove round an interchange into an empty parking lot with planters.
As the sun slanted over the plateau into the wilderness of the CA?a valley, I decided to sneak into a side-valley to the north of our campsite that Rebanda's map had cluttered with pins.
Then, after breaching a wall of rushes, we broke to the reservoir's edge - and were met by a horned skull stuck on a stake.
Suddenly, I remembered what Rebanda had said about the engravings' association with witchcraft.
Being obstinate (or perhaps because of the prehistoric setting), I started whittling stone, knapping a microlithic surgeon's kit, and then bent single-mindedly to my task - failing till I was disgusted with myself and worried for my victim (which I had bizarrely associated with Rebanda). This time there were two guards behind an overhanging military fence crested by barbed wire. The guard who beckoned us in was rearing a guard-dog puppy, which scampered around, tumbling over ledges and using its chin to lever itself over steps. Our guide was a decent young man who couldn't help feeling uneasy blocking access to these bold masterpieces at the source of all our arts. Still, these guards were actually tame as the locals poured down to catch a glimpse of the animals through the fence. After he'd hastened to take up his time-clock again, I wandered if there might not be even more testimonials of man's attraction to this classical Eden with its islets and fords in the flowery river, and browsed through a plowed orchard, along a contour which I judged would have been the valley floor half a million years ago.
We knew the next dawn would be our last, so we broke camp in blue light to explore the teeming side-valley beyond the first auroch. Not Portugal's - OURS - because this art is so old, despite its elegance, that we share the blood and genius of those distant ancestors who awoke to the universe, whether our cavalcade of ancestors migrated around the Old World or came across the Bering Straits 14,000 years ago.
Footnotes have been added to the internet version of the article to provide historical perspective and more detail about sources than the versions that were published & distributed in 1995. 1 The three discoverers of the Chauvet Cave were Eliette Brunel Deschamps, Christian Hillaire, and Jean-Marie Chauvet. 2 The IPPAR announced the existence of the valleya€™s engravings on November 19, 1994 but a video was made of them in 1993. 10 Bahn 1995 for a re-capitulation of the same accusations against the IPPAR & Rebanda. 33 Bednarik & Jaffe have been the most outspoken spokesmen about delusions concerning the protective qualities of reservoirs a€“ which not only inundate art panels with water but deep alluvial deposits that make their later recovery dangerous and impractical.
34 Interestingly, a few years after this appeal was written, Clottes came under fierce attack and even ridicule by many representatives of the French intelligentsia, including some of the countrya€™s most prominent prehistorians, after he and David Lewis-Williams published a€?The Shamans of Prehistory: Trance and magic in the painted cavesa€? in 1996.
As soon as their results indicating that the art might be only 3,000 to 6,500 years old (if not even younger) were announced a€“ which actually made the engravings even more astonishing, potentially rewriting the history of rock art or even making Portugal the last bastion of the Paleolithic tradition a€“ the most important Portuguese right-wing weekly screamed that the direct-dating results proved that stylistic daters like Clottes had perpetrated a a€?FRAUDa€? (O Independente, 7 July 1995).
It should also be noted that the individuals who participated in the debate were often somewhat unwittingly drawn into playing secondary or tertiary roles in a struggle between the Portuguese Ministry of Culture and Ministry of Industry. 40 In November 1995 - six months after this call-toa€“arms was published and circulated to Prehistoric Art Emergencya€™s volunteers (who Ia€™m glad to report included a young actor, Yann Montelle, who went on to earn a doctorate in prehistory) - a book edited by Jorge called a€?Dossier CA?aa€? appeared with 20 contributions by him or his wife. 44 After writing this article in May 1995, it occurred to me that I might have missed one of the main reasons for eliminating Rebanda from Portugala€™s archaeological milieu a€“ the fact that he was so effective at finding rock art that drew international attention, first to Mazouco, then to CA?a. 49 When I wrote the article, I assumed that the two young men were Rebandaa€™s subordinates and referred to them as a€?draftsmena€?. 50 After initially denigrating both the art and the idea of extracting it, the EDP later adopted the idea as one of its three strategies for overcoming opposition to the dam project. He could see his stall at the foot of the mountain, and to him the quickest way down seemed to be over the edge of the nearest cliff. Though the task they had to do was very light compared with that of the Oxen, they creaked and groaned at every turn.
A timid little Mouse came upon him unexpectedly, and in her fright and haste to get away, ran across the Lion's nose. So now, though he had not seen anything that even looked like a Wolf, he ran toward the village shouting at the top of his voice, "Wolf! But when they got there they found the Boy doubled up with laughter at the trick he had played on them. Wolf!" But though the Villagers heard the cry, they did not run to help him as they had before.
But the party ended dismally with all the birds entangled in the meshes of the Farmer's net. He very quickly captured the porker, which squealed at the top of its voice the moment the Shepherd laid his hands on it. They had so much freedom that it had spoiled them, and they did nothing but sit around croaking in a bored manner and wishing for a government that could entertain them with the pomp and display of royalty, and rule them in a way to make them know they were being ruled. The Frogs hid themselves among the reeds and grasses, thinking the new king to be some fearful giant.
Then after sundown, when the rosy light fades from the sky and the shadows rise slowly through the wood, out she comes ruffling and blinking from the old hollow tree.
One warm summer afternoon as she dozed away in her den in the old oak tree, a Grasshopper nearby began a joyous but very raspy song. Besides, her eyes were not sharp enough by day to permit her to punish the Grasshopper as he deserved. Up he jumped to the Owl's den, but as soon as he was near enough so the old Owl could see him clearly, she pounced upon him and ate him up.
As he ran, the setting sun cast his shadow far out on the ground, and it looked as if the wolf were a hundred times bigger than he really was. When the wind blew, the great Oak stood proudly upright with its hundred arms uplifted to the sky. The Boys amused themselves by throwing stones into the pond so as to make them skip on top of the water. But the pitcher was high and had a narrow neck, and no matter how he tried, the Crow could not reach the water. Inside, Gail Kim can be shown behind the bar while her friends Chiaki Kuriyama and Gordon Liu are sitting across from her.
Outside, Gail and Chris walk to their vehicles, Gail's being a cherry red candy coated convertible and Chris' being a silver Mercedes Benz. I mean, Shaniqua has been on a roll ever since she stepped foot into the WWFX, are you at all intimidated? There's nothing that you can say or that Shaniqua can say to make me change my mind about this damn match!
Sometime later, Gail is shown standing around in a backstage area pulling up her knee pads.
With special guest tonight, GAIL KIM!And a special LIVE Performance from Beyonce and Sean Paul!" Back from the break, 'Shaniqua' who is now played by Gail Kim, is lying in her bed dressed in all black leather and with dark brown face paint on her face and arms while lying under the sheets. Not only were frescoes of rhinos, horses and lions over 30,000 years old found in a cave in the Ardeche on Dec. Although theya€™re probably right, ita€™s worth noting that these same specialists used similar criteria to ascribe the animals of Chauvet to the same period - until carbon 14 results pushed their age back over 10,000 years, shattering the notion that prehistoric art had evolved linearly, like technologies. In France, the Ministry of Culture placed its new treasure under the most draconian protection, despite the fact that the country already has the lion's share of Paleolithic art. Standing right in front of some of the most spectacular engravings, the Secretary of State for Culture dismissed them as being nothing more than a€?childrena€™s doodlesa€? a€“ whereupon the students from Foz CA?aa€™s high school turned the official into a laughing-stock by presenting him with a schist slab covered with their own scribblings4.
It's now or never, the author of the following article decided in April 1995, as he set out to evaluate the engravings, find out the truth, and propose solutions. My 13-year old son and I had flown to Porto in Portugal and driven far up the Douro valley into the northeastern mountains, prepared to maneuver around obstructions whether by negotiation or hiking through the back door. Still, here was our first encounter with the powers that be, so I took this opportunity to probe, and get a first step up the hierarchical ladder. So I explained how Sebastian and I had come so far to see the Paleolithic glories that Portugal would be displaying with pride, spoke of credentials, and placed us (and our pen) in his hands. Still, we had our bearings, and drove off into the late afternoon to penetrate the heart of the forbidden zone. We were getting closer, very close now, and could spy loops of a trail among the folds of a distant ridge. And here too was the arena where one of the greatest feuds between discoverers and custodians of the past had exploded since the conflict between Othniel Marsh and Edward Drinker Cope over the fossils of extinct giants in Sioux territory during Custer's battles.
With swifts swirling in up-drafts around our heads, we scrambled and picked our way among sheer precipices and ledges. Its tight horseshoe of cliffs and rubble made the perfect hiding place for our car and tent from the gray guards roaming the surrounding crests with binoculars.
Sebastian snuggled tighter into his sleeping bag, so I set out to reconnoiter alone, systematically working quadrants and contours between our quarry at Fariseu and Piscos brook. Somewhere among the jumble of a thousand rock faces would be an ancient image - perhaps masked by lichen or so faint one had to trace its parts before seeing it whole. The numbed waters suddenly spangled upstream with glitter and so many flowery white tresses of water plants that the currents looked like sudsy pastures. After all the noisy demonstrations against the dam in Lisbon, how were they to know how much clout a nosy prehistorian might have?
Whatever was going to happen to him afterwards in the backwater of Portuguese archaeology had surely been inconsequential, since experience proved that nobody made much fuss over sites that were out-of-sight and out-of-mind - especially with archaeologists beholding to dam-builders and political appointees for access and records. According to the insinuations, he could have continued his documentation right up to the headwaters as his masters worked their way upstream step by step. I sensed that this crowd felt their doctor deserved to be the one to tell fellow archaeologists that they might as well ask to visit Atlantis. Sure enough, there was the 12 year-old Pocinho dam sweeping the valley with a clean curtain.14 But the silos of this former construction site's cement plant were speckled with rust, the ranks of its offices and dormitories were deserted and almost every window was broken. Fortunately, Sebastian was becoming ever more engrossed in Verne's book, spelunking towards the planet's core, so I began to gravitate down halls for exercise and companionship, coming to the door of the room where the secretary was braiding the blind's cord while two laconic draftsmen labored over tracings of horses, ibexes and aurochs. It has been insinuated that Rebanda probably discovered Rock 1 at Canada do Inferno as early as November 1991.18 In Dec.
So, quixotically, he had proposed building a dry-dock around the outcropping, and, failing that, underwater exploration. If so, the power utility may have known of incredibly rich sites years before the first blueprint for the new dam!
Clottes was the worlda€™s reigning prehistorian a€“ the man who had risen to the pinnacle of the French archaeological establishment and held the only keys to the holy grail of art caves - the unbelievably strong and ancient Grotte Chauvet. After inspecting the 15% of the art that remained above water at the site in the rising dama€™s shadow, because the EDP had hardly felt it necessary to lower the water for the visit of the foreigner sent by the now antagonistic IPPAR, Clottes stepped before a highly polarized press corps. The dam-builders and their government backers felt vindicated while much of Portuguese public was crestfallen or furious. The dam had become a poisonous political issue in a national election with the President and his fellow Socialists attacking the center-right Prime Minister for its willingness to sacrifice both the nationa€™s patrimony and vineyards to a flaky building scheme.
As if the owners of villas built around the new lake would really allow it to be drained 100 meters to its bottom - where almost all of the known panels would soon be drowned a€“ once every decade! Suddenly, the Portuguese public felt that the dam-builders were not only destroying the nationa€™s most ancient claim to world grandeur and civilization, but that they were in league with a man who would never have been so cavalier with Paleolithic masterpieces in his own country! When I later asked Portuguese archaeologists if they were going to attend an up-coming conference organized by Clottes, they recoiled.
First, because Clottesa€™ retinue of hosts, diplomats and reporters was rushing him and putting him in a bind a€“ even if his stature, pride, and role as UNESCOa€™s expert on rock art had led him into it. They even echoed his faith in getting dam operators to regularly empty the vast lake a€“ despite the glaring evidence of the EDPa€™s behavior at CA?a itself.
No sooner had Clottes triggered a public outcry, than he began to explain away his tepid defense of the CA?aa€™s importance by saying that he had not been shown enough art to form a true idea of the valleya€™s richness.35 But the truth is, he was shown Rebandaa€™s trove of drawings from submerged sections and sites upstream36 and could have been more demanding. After all it was a lot of money, the government was inflexible, the controversy had become a campaign issue a€“ which meant that his advice would seem like foreign meddling - and the elections were still far off.
When, in fact, the long-term rights for the cave in France would belong to its Ministry of Culture a€“ which was already attacking its discoverer, Chauvet, for the pittance hea€™d received for his pictures. But I could hardly hold my tongue: why on earth had he invited people from this caste of academics back into his life - and the valley - when at least one of them had apparently abused him? The picture was compelling: SimAµes and her husband angelically insisting that the world must be told, while the hireling screamed demonically over the fire, accusing university archaeologists of trying to hog the credit yet again. If Rebanda had known SimAµes and Jaffe were going to paint him into a corner, wouldn't he have raced for the exit? Both Rebanda and SimAµes de Abreu could have been traitors and saviors at once, and as long as I was with this archaeologist, I felt bound to encourage the savior in him.


It must have seemed like an insult to him after all his efforts, so with an anarchic gesture, he announced, what the hell, he'd photocopy their fax when it came, so we could enter a second. Huge black derricks hulked atop the dam beside a row of gate-lifting pistons that looked like Big Berthas.
We bagged the warning or omen, caught and released a giant water beetle - the kind that injects deliquescing enzymes into living frogs, then sucks out their juice - and worked our way along what was actually the upper tier of a disappearing cliff. When art panels are located in the CA?aa€™s side valleys, they are apparently concentrated on northern slopes. I was a willing guide as we skewered corn kernels on hooks, lashed lines around a log and threw the lethal leashes into the dark. They were a hundred yards apart, making perpetual rounds as they kept time clocks happy by cranking them every few paces with keys chained to the fence. It was probably his first job after military service, but he was intelligent enough to realize that hea€™d been hired as a pawn in a vast conspiracy to keep Portugal's greatest cultural wonders out of sight and out of mind, till they could be obliterated.
One, because any plan to remove the friezes not only meant assigning a value to them, but keeping the controversy alive. The mountainous dirt road forked, meandered and even skirted an imposing castle,51 but several classes of children were making the long dusty pilgrimage on foot while carloads of adults in their Sunday best made the excursion to see the only engravings to have escaped the censors - either because the site at Penascosa was so far from Lima Montiero's spyglass or because the valley was gentler here and had always been farmed.
I hadn't passed the first olive tree when I happened upon a well-knapped hand-axe, and then another! On-line commentary entitled a€?Some corrections about the CA?a petroglyphsa€? in TRACCE no. While Chauveta€™s name was given to the cave itself, the names of his co-discoverers were given to two of its large chambers. Mila SimAµes de Abreu and Ludwig Jaffe were the founders of the APAAR (AssociaA§ao Portuguesa de Arte e Arqueologia Rupestre), which has been a member of IFRAO (International Federation of Rock Art Organisations) since Sept. In an on-line commentary, Jaffe denounced what he perceived as a continuation of the scandal under new management: a€?In December 1994 IPPAR passed the responsibility for the rock art in the Coa valley to Mario Varela Gomes and Antonio Martinho Baptista. Their critics often subscribe to the doctrine that modern ethnographic evidence cannot be used to interpret ancient cultures. Although Bednarik was one of the earliest crusaders for CA?a - calling for the EDP to stop building the dam in Nov. The leftist press and Portuguese archaeological milieu reacted with just as much reflection, ignoring both Bednarika€™s qualifiers and his pioneering role in organizing the world campaign to fight for the whole valleya€™s salvation (see Dossier CA?a p.
Of the 66 contributions written by individuals, not one is by Nelson Rebanda, whose ghost a€“ to anyone interested in intellectual property a€“ haunts every line.
After the CA?a scandal served its purpose as an electoral issue that helped the Socialists to win power, the new government kept its campaign promise by protecting the CA?a Valley but used the goodwill engendered by the decision to blunt criticism while flooding other huge assemblages of rock art. 3; Catherine Vincent, writing in Le Monde on March 11, 1995, goes into much more detail about one particular vineyard, Ervamoira, that would have been lost, along with its exceptional Port wine. The first was to prove that the engravings were not Paleolithic a€“ an effort that entrapped researchers who wanted to apply experimental direct-dating techniques. Just as he was about to leap over, his master caught him by the tail and tried to pull him back, but the stubborn Ass would not yield and pulled with all his might. The poor Oxen, pulling with all their might to draw the wagon through the deep mud, had their ears filled with the loud complaining of the Wheels. But before he left he begged the Bull's pardon for having used his horn for a resting place. Out popped the old Owl's head from the opening in the tree that served her both for door and for window. The wind redoubled in fury, and all at once the great tree fell, torn up by the roots, and lay among the pitying Reeds. With each pebble the water rose a little higher until at last it was near enough so he could drink. First, it was taking out Trish Stratus, then she took out Lita shortly after with a blink of the eye. Well maybe she'll get the message when I eliminate her ass at the Pay Per View.-stands up stumbling a bit- You know something? Besides, I was hoping that you and I could-strokes Chris' cheek- Could head back to our place and spend some time together? Now Shaniqua may be known as the 'Bondage Babe' but to me, she's more like the 'Bondage Shim.' That Women's Championship Title is mine no matter what that freaky bitch has got to say about it! 18th1, but Europea€™s biggest open-air gallery of Paleolithic animals was reported just a month earlier in the CA?a Valley of northeastern Portugal2. Regardless of how old the CA?aa€™s art turns out to be, it is unique in its richness above ground and astonishing in its illustrations of movement - with animals tossing their heads with the same stop-action dynamism found at Chauvet and only millennia later in photography and Futurist painting. The Chauvet Cavea€™s prehistoric bestiary was proudly splashed across magazines around the world. Soon, the guard turned into a regular lad, wrote down the chief engineer's name and pointed beyond the ramp-laced moonscape - into the wilderness. In this walled garden, the conflicting passions of archaeologists had exploded around a campfire, set a president and prime minister against each other, and cowed the emissaries of UNESCO. Lizards skidded into fissures, a rusty blade wedged in a nook beside a sliver of cliff garden spoke of an emigrant who had never returned, but the walls seemed barren. Over and over again, the scene seemed set, the rock stretched, but its lines were just fractals. I yanked myself up to a platform less than a step wide and a ten-foot long cow - an auroch! By holding the animal's form and movement vividly in mind, the maker had poured himself into its body and experienced a power beyond abstraction, beyond even tool-making, to thrill to the new power of passing through the looking-glass into another being. A stream, running pure as its springs over crisp cresses between alternating bull rushes and crags, almost made it to the river unaltered, but met it just below the threshold and sank into an estuary. We had arrived at Pandemonium and would try to insinuate ourselves into an audience with the Chief Engineer himself. Only one was so spotless and redolent of perks, though, with its rolled lawn incongruous in the desert, that we knew right where to head among forking roads. I was hardly surprised when these well-fed pros passed the buck to the only gaunt and partially toothless fellow traveler among them. So they decided to play it safe by dumping me on their pet nemesis, the organizationa€™s own archaeological a€?hirelinga€?, Dr.
He could have added to his hoard of exclusive photos and measurements, imposed interpretations, and generally lorded it over his peers - for who could have naysayed him with his treasures locked a hundred meters deep in so many great watery safes?10 And to think that all the dam-builders' pet archaeologist and his accommodating superiors at the Portuguese Institute for Architectural and Archaeological Heritage (IPPAR)11 in Lisbon - to whom Rebanda had reported his discoveries at least twice12 - had had to do to pull off this economically patriotic (not to say mutually beneficial) stunt was keep their mouths shut!
After having suffered at the hands of his mentor, Professor Jorge, why had Rebanda put himself at the mercy of two similar academics and representatives of an international body to boot - Mila SimAµes de Abreu and her archaeologist husband, Ludwig Jaffe, who represented the International Federation of Rock Art Organizations (IFRAO)? At least such nuisances would keep him from getting up to more mischief by turning up new discoveries.
But, finally, a secretary answered my summons and let me into a vestibule empty except for a display of postcard-sized photographs of some of the engravings, and a cartoon caricaturing the scandal - which I reckoned had been knowingly posted to co-opt criticism. I couldn't quite make out the man's features through the crack, but it was obvious he was gushing recriminations - and no wonder: the entire archaeological profession had ganged up on the pariah.
We all knew I had crossed a threshold, but, after all, I had paid my dues, and in any case, I padded off to the foyer again. Yet they'd prattled to the press that they had found the art a year ago, and then more like two years ago, and now, word had it, a€?onlya€? three years ago25 - when it was always somehow too late to stop the process leading up to construction, which had only started in September a€™94.26 The gall!
Instantly, I whipped out paper and scribbled the fastest copy of the main map that my hand could draw. After SimAµes de Abreu and Jaffe had unleashed the scandal by revealing the conspiracy to flood Europea€™s richest assemblage of open-air Paleolithic art, the IPPAR and Portuguese Ministry of Culture had scrambled to get their own expert witness a€“ and, in a further twist, had asked UNESCO to recommend an expert to challenge the power companya€™s growing efforts to prove the art wasna€™t Paleolithic but recent27 a€“ in which case, the EDP seemed to think that the public would drop the subject as being the relatively recent work of peasants drawing their cows. For all their heightened sensitivity to having CA?aa€™s fate evaluated by a foreigner, the Portuguese press viewed Clottes as a referee and expected a verdict. Then, as fate would have it, Clottes was back in the headlines within the week, announcing drastic measures to protect Francea€™s new crown jewel, Chauvet. And as if anyone could even find new art during the two weeks a lake might be emptied (every hundred years) while everything was coated with algae and grime! Opposition editorialists had a field day with Clottesa€™ apparent hypocrisy and dismissiveness towards Portugal - and demonstrators flooded the streets.
Two, because people are often driven to produce their greatest work and worst mistakes by similar drives.
Rebanda was even fooling himself on this score, I thought - after all, the Foz CA?a photographs would probably end up belonging to Portugala€™s own ministry or even the EDP. Scientists - like lawyers - ply an adversarial trade, but the chance to put Portugal into the archaeological heavens a€“ and to boost their own reputations with it - had given many researchers more ulterior motives than usual. Personally, I couldn't see anybody bedding down for the night and traipsing out the next morning with people who had announced that they were going to expose him. In essence, my heart a€“ if not my mind - had taken his side for the moment; he was the underdog, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and I was concerned that he might even attempt suicide.
If I didn't mind coming back at 9 the next morning, he apologized, the approval should be there. But basically the dam was a streamlined machine without much need for local intervention or maintenance. My unequivocal certification of their global importance only made him uneasier, as he didn't know whether to feel flattered or upset.
We peered into a dovecot, a squat white tower lined inside with empty compartments like a city after a plague.
Suddenly, a deeply hammered auroch on the rock stood out boldly as a road sign - alerting us to an entire herd.
The geology, erosion, & silica skins protecting engravings all seem similar on both slopes, so I theorize that this positioning is not simply a taphonomic illusion created by the disappearance of engravings on the southern slopes. I wasn't expecting anything when I ambled down at dawn, but there it was: a big mound under the bank!
From what I could tell, even his draftsmen had decided to take the day off 49, once they realized the coast was clear. By God, I thought, if the flooders don't save them, I hope the townspeople storm the valley! If the guards hadn't been under strict orders not to sell admissions, they'd have made a killing; but then any financial association with the art is anathema to the dammers: the next thing they knew, they'd have a revolt on their hands! And like the first guard, when he realized that I had somehow gotten authorization despite my evident opposition to the reservoir, he let out his pent-up indignation - for we were insiders.
As we passed the threshold between the deadened depths and virgin current with its billowing water-foliage, we had to skirt and climb over a sheer wall blocking the side-valleya€™s entrance.
The intertwined couple, spanning the length of a single real horse, was still necking in Eden after twenty millennia. Rock Art and the CA?a Valley Archaeological Park: A case study in the preservation of Portugal's prehistoric parietal heritage. Although it is true that one must be extremely circumspect about doing so, such evidence often opens new perspectives that have more in common with the subsistence systems of ancient cultures than does our own, and the two authors showed considerable originality and courage in exploring it. 1994 - most Portuguese archaeologists with access to the CA?a sites now shun him as thoroughly as they do Clottes and Rebanda. 539, for a resolution, written in defense of CA?a, by Bednarik, in a book filled with vitriole against him). These retractions confirmed that some of ZilhA?oa€™s criticisms of the direct dating attempts were well founded, but dona€™t necessarily reflect on other matters raised in his disputes with Bednarik and Jaffe. In the English sections, Jorge generously credits numerous associates and generations of Portuguese prehistorians by full name, while studiously avoiding any mention of Rebanda except where it is unavoidable, and then only with his last name between brackets. The second was to make casts of panels for a museum a€“ which may have damaged some panels. Running to one of the great ropes that bound him, she gnawed it until it parted, and soon the Lion was free.
But in spite of its squeals and struggles to escape, the Shepherd tucked his prize under his arm and started off to the butcher's in the market place.
In a short time the younger Frogs were using him for a diving platform, while the older Frogs made him a meeting place, where they complained loudly to Jupiter about the government. In mournful croaks they begged Jupiter to take away the cruel tyrant before they should all be destroyed. Rat walked alonga€”he kept mostly to the ditcha€”he noticed a great commotion up the road, and soon a grand procession came in view.
And just last week, Gail got the chance to get her hands on the WWFX Women's Championship Title. Her hair is down in it's natural state, except it's over her shoulder with a skyblue rose pinned in it.
The scene then fades into Gail and Chris falling in bursting open the apartment door kissing. You get paied to ask questions and yet you ask the same question over and over, what's wrong with you?! Just then the crowd bursts out in laughter as Kenan Thompson (Shaniqua) is dressed in a black pleather bra top and matching hotpants with black pleather boots and a braided wig on his head in Shaniqua's style.
One inch of ice in 3 days !!!It wasreal windy most of the day and I spent more time in the EskimoQuick Fish 3.The two holes in the shelter provided some steady action for perch and bluegills. While the paintings in the French cave, which became known as the Grotte Chauvet, often have engraved contours, the Portuguese menagerie may also have been painted, but, being outdoors, their pigments have usually weathered away. As shadows welled from the valley, we turned from the scarps and trundled downwards into the cleavage, till the road turned into a path to the water through a profusion of poppies.
Finally, I discerned a flock ambling down through dry brush, then a shirt flashed a white dot, and we converged within hailing distance on opposite banks. Even ideal panels on either side of a fig tree bulging titanically from a small cave were barren. A stand of poplar trees crackled like Chinese New Year with small birds, abundant as leaves. It was a good thing we had his name, Lima Monteiro, because the Securitas guard on this side meant business. Our compact car slid in among Mercedes and I stepped into glare, drawing cool stares from fleshy faces. My interlocutor explained that the Chief Engineer was powerless to help me, so he couldn't be bothered to give me an audience. Of course, the stories went, the honorable witnesses had refused to become accomplices and had immediately denounced the whole plot a€“ writing open letters to the Portuguese President, Vice President and Director of IPPAR - with carbon copies for the press.13 If only his employers had known that Rebanda was so naive! She announced that it was no use disturbing the doctor, who I could see through a jarred door talking to someone over the phone with peevish vehemence. Finally, I suggested that she didn't need to keep me company while I waited for the good doctor to get off the phone. That's strange, I thought as I wandered off again, mulling over a mental photograph of the site distribution. And here were others, even closer to the construction site, at "RA?go de Vide", which had been submerged by the same old dam!
Still, she caught me; whereupon I went on elaborating it, asking questions, and then padded back to the foyer again to continue my vigil.
After all, the archaeologists and reporters had allowed the Tagus petrogylphs to be drowned with hardly a whimper. Not only did the contrast with his actions in Portugal now smack of a double standard, but there was a piquant irony. With stakes this high, both parties unleashed their opinion-making machines, making hash of Clottesa€™ carefully weighed words as quickly as theya€™d vilified Rebanda.
Clottesa€™ words may have been earnest, but with stakes this high and politicized they were about as reasonable as Pontius Pilatea€™s attempts to keep the peace. I prefer to think the latter, and that his only mistake was thinking that people on both sides were lucid and reflective enough to interpret his verdict correctly. In Rebanda's place, I'd have calmed down and let the traitors fall to sleep, but then I'd have snuck away - trekking fast through the dark, picking myself up when I fell, but getting out - bloody knees and all - and calling that alarm first!
Furthermore, I had no doubt - whatever pacts he'd struck - that he would make up for them if only approached constructively. After we'd faxed it, I was sorry to see him having to still recall and refax, as he nudged the request repeatedly through the unyielding bureaucracy.
Sebastian and I scrambled and tacked among the carious cliffs, till there was nothing left but rock overhanging the water itself. But a huge horse, leaning over the depths, was both more graceful and cryptic, for someone had wedged a rusty horseshoe into a crack between its hooves. No sooner had I chipped the thin device and steadily shoved each curve straight, than the hook slipped smoothly free. Only Rebanda's long-suffering secretary had to keep her post and occupied herself by taking up the relay of calling and faxing. These red and gray devices were not only customized to match the guards' uniforms, but showed off the latest in high-tech materials and molding.
As we wound our way down towards the reservoir among towering red cliffs, he took quiet pride in pointing out the hidden elements of scattered engravings.
But then Piscos Brook ran between trees, pastures and cane-groves, with cliffs full of shelters and stone panels at each bend.
La Pintura, The Official Newsletter of the American Rock Art Research Association (Member of IFRAO) Volume 21, Number 3, Winter. In the same book, which Jorge compiled to record the campaign he was spear-heading to save CA?a a€“ a laudatory effort, if there ever was one, that made Jorge synonymous with yet another of Rebandaa€™s finds - Bednarik is repeatedly dismissed as a a€?charlatana€? (pp. Jaffe accused the trio, who had taken over responsibility for the archaeological resources of the valley, of endangering art panels and refusing to allow qualified foreign researchers or even Dr. Whatever the case may be, the problem of rock art conservation is still as far from resolution in Portugal as it is in most other places in the world. Gail looks around at the dark locker room with leather whips and chains hanging from the wall. All that remains, where jagged outcroppings of schist jut from brushy slopes - exposing terminal facets perfect for murals - are hauntingly sinuous outlines of deer, horses, ibexes, and wild cattle called aurochs.
The first flurry of press articles had mentioned that many of the engravings were already submerged by the cofferdam holding the river back for the more monstrous wall rising downstream from it.
I sent greetings and the shepherd expostulated and gestured animatedly upstream towards towering slabs. For me, all of mankind's later accomplishments, all our later experience of good and evil only become possible after such art. The irrelevant exchange had sparked sympathy as we both waited - and waited, in similar irrelevance to someone too consumed to give us heed.
I would have to go to Lisbon, and no, it wouldn't do any good for him to fax; he didn't have an iota of authority. Despite all the insinuations about Rebanda and IPPAR, they were actually the first to try blocking the philistines with the clout of an institution as important as UNESCO. About thirty years before, Francea€™s equivalent to the EDP had taken the entire Ardeche Gorge, where the Chauvet Cave had just been found, from its entrance at Sauze to a rainbow-huge, natural arch - Vallon Pont da€™Arc, next to Chauvet - by eminent domain, to build a dam.
These conscientious people know that theya€™re barely tolerated by the forces of Mammon - scraping crumbs from the tables of vast enterprises armed with dynamite and bulldozers - and make compacts all the time with them, telling themselves, for instance, that the alluvial strata that cement plants exploit are always too tumbled to contain intact Acheulian hearths. If only he'd announced the discovery, co-opted his employers, and splashed masterpieces across magazine covers while the art's existence was still fresh, he might have won honor, fame, a very small fortune (and maybe even kept his job). Within weeks, local academics had begun signing their names to Rebandaa€™s discoveries, tracings, and interpretations while forgetting to cite him. I'd have been the one to announce the existence of the largest gathering of open-air Paleolithic engravings in Europe to the world.
Slate slabs, thoughtfully laid into a wall as steps, led down through a canopy of fig trees into a cavernous wallow between cliffs. I woke Sebastian in time to see the beast lumber over the bank and glide away, and then it was high time we checked out our other line at the doctor's office. Noon passed as we still waited together like an old couple, talking about the doctor's misery, Australian rock art, translations; whatever.
The guards stiffened as Sebastian and I had the gumption to breach a forbidden zone and stride blithely forward. There were so many warblers piping and whistling, there must have been a dozen species with overlapping territories.
Botha€? - Baptista and Gomes a€“ a€?were closely involved in the rationale to submerge the rock art (to 'protect it from vandals'); in fact, on 8 November Baptista spoke of how sedimentation behind dams should protect rock arta€? - my italics. After our departure, Bednarik and three other researchers (Alan Watchman from Canada, plus Fred Phillips and Ronald Dorn from the USA), who believed that they had found ways to date rock art directly, studied some of the CA?aa€™s engravings during separate visits. 1995 that was led by Mounir Bouchenaki, the IPPAR formed a scientific committee consisting of Antonio BeltrA?n, Emmanuel Anati and Jean Clottes, who came back for a second round.
Oh Poor Trishy, laied up at home sitting on her Touchey!-they all laugh- You know something?
The 'Basham Brothers' then move under the sheets placing 'Shaniqua' between the both of them humping her repeatedly. The death lull kicked in around1230 and fishing picked back up again at 3pm.I landed the usual residents of the lake-- a few trout, afew nice crappies, perch and gills. And so, forgive me, but in comparison to these ancient windows, cathedrals seem to have anti-climatic and overwrought power.


Except for the absence now of bigger species, this was how Solutreans had experienced the world - with whistling, mooing, barking, roaring and trumpeting not just on the Serengeti, but to the frozen north! So much will go unrecorded because of all this fuss.a€? a€“ So, Rebanda is resigned to the inevitability of the flooding, I thought.
If the dam had been built, a dozen known art caves would have been flooded or affected by rising water tables. So rather than condemn Clottes, perhaps the Portuguese should simply admit his diplomacy opened the debate, even if one might wish that hea€™d been a crusader.
From Chauveta€™s pinnacle, its gatekeeper was probably right to dismiss the scratchings, which I too thought could have been the kneading of bears, but the contrast between the levels of encouragement was striking. Although they granted him the discovery of Hella€™s Canyon (in footnotes), other sites that Rebanda had already noted were soon claimed by competitors as Rebanda was effectively silenced. And Vitor and his wife, Susanaa€? - was it my imagination or did her name stick in his craw?
Their stingy hypocrisy and philistinism revolted me: they wouldn't spend a penny on protecting such discoveries, but they'd drown the world up to its headwaters to keep driving Mercedes. Goldfinches sparked into the air, a crested hoopoo flashed orange and black, and the shaggy canes were a tumult of avian chatter. Jaffe was also the IFRAO representative of the SocietA  Cooperativa Archaeologica, Le Orme della€™Uomo, Italy (Bednarik 1994). But not before signing controversial non-disclosure agreements with the EDP, which was hoping that their techniques would yield dates so recent that they could be used to ridicule stylistic daters who had identified the engravings as Paleolithic (Baptista & Fernandes 2007, p. All Shaniqua is good for is strutting around talking a good game because she's big, muscular, and ugly. The walls near the bookshelves turn and behind them come dildos of ever color, a hanging body chain falls out from the ceiling, and a movie screen slides down and there begins a tape of Shaniqua and the Basham Brothers having a threesome. Intermittent splashes smacked echoes off the walls, a frog croaked and some beast keened a cry we had never heard. When I asked if they could intercede on our behalf, she said one had to apply in person, in Lisbon, and have connections.
In fact, paw prints indicated that we had missed cornering another feral dog or fox in its lair. Surgically, it was a nightmare: I'd have to pry its head out, keep its neck extended, wedge open its powerful beak and finally thrust the treble barbs down its throat, so as to carefully extract their burr, without snagging them again!
Finally, they agreed that one of them would walk parallel to us, down the fence-line, to let us in the distant gate. At our feet, frogs skipped like pebbles and painted turtles rowed earnestly in tangled water blossoms - all for the taking.
Unless you and I and all of us together add our voices to those of the Portuguese citizenry trekking down for a last look, and reclaim what is OURS!
The story of the denunciation is from Bednarik (1994) and Simons in the New York Times (1994). Even the Chauvet Cave, which was unknown, might have been threatened by the changing water table! Unfortunately, Bednarik, who is one of the worlda€™s most encyclopedically informed, accomplished, and bold prehistorians, walked right into the trap. Jorgea€™s utter dismissal of Bednarik was clearly motivated by the lattera€™s implicit condemnation of the way that Jorge had appropriated Rebandaa€™s earlier discovery at Mazouco, instigating Rebandaa€™s secrecy that was one component of the CA?a a€?cover-upa€? (Bednarik 1994, p. But anyways, in the morning, Gail and Chris are shown walking around their apartment, obviously getting ready to hit the road. First of all here we've got Trish Stratus, the blonde bitch who thinks that she can't be beat, well Lita certainly proved that she can be beat. The 'Basham Brothers' then lie on each side of 'Shaniqua' as she looks into the camera and begins to speak. Later, Bednarik spear-headed another campaign to save a Portuguese rock-art assemblage from inundation a€“ this time behind a dam in the Guadiana Valley - and noted that a€?None of this helps the rock art of the Guadiana, condemned to inundation under billions of tonnes of lake sediment as the reservoir silts up over the next 70 yearsa€? a€“ again, my italics.
Gail has on her Toronto Maple Leafs Jersey that is tied in the front showing her navel and her jean flared hip huggers with her hair up in a ponytail. Incase she didn't know, I've dealt with men and women bigger than me in the past and no matter what, I won. Do you think I'm such a fool as to invite the man who deprived me of the credit for my first discovery, to come see my greatest wonders if it wasn't because I needed all the allies I could get; if it wasn't because I even needed the universities to help save them.
Ironically, the mandarin in Porto would come out smelling like roses for his campaign while the roles of several well-meaning prehistorians, if I may insist upon the word, were simplified so as to make them better scapegoats. Gail listen to me and listen good, I'm gonna keep fucking this piece of plastic-drops the dildo- And you're gonna-gonna-Oh my God!
First, because his dating system, which was based on determining the degree of micro-erosion undergone by a rock face, had been developed in Australia, where climate and geological conditions are different from Portugala€™s. And Lita, she's below garbage, she's scum, underneath my shoe, I wanted to show those fuckers that I meant business! Plenty ofpanfish with a few perch hitting the 9-inch mark and a crappie thatwas almost 10 inches.I caught trout sporadically throughout the day, ending with 9. A little later that day, Gail is shown backstage at the arena in her red ensemble and matching trenchcoat checking herself out in the mirror. This odd statement flies in the face of Bednarika€™s consistent defense of both the CA?aa€™s art and other assemblages, suggesting that it was a ploy to get the EDP to allow them to test their methods.
Gail turns around a bit annoyed at the presence of Terri walking up on her with a microphone.
Even though both men concluded that their observations proved that the art was no older than the Neolithic, Bednarik did not repeat the notion, when announcing his results, that a relatively recent vintage diminished the arta€™s importance or the need to protect it a€“ quite the contrary. The creek was rising and the fish were a bit sluggish, but I was able to tempt a few wild browns to hit my Yozuri stick bait.
I don't question why, but I will say that the Berkley Trout Worm in a PINK or ORANGE color will usually get you a few bites. With that being said, I have created my own Pink Worm that has enabled me to land many trout, both wild and stocked. So, I am sorry for that.A Now, when the power is out for 7 days and the clean-up effort at your house is over, you need a few hours to unwind.
Teddy told me the lake is completed covered and the ice might be about 1 inch orso.Teddy has patrolled and lived next toAntietam Lakealmostall his life and he knows the lake. A few local streams were scheduled to be stocked with trout-- Manatawny Creek, Hay Creek and Tulpehocken Creek. I should be in very good company this year with my best friend Mark and a college buddy named Mark joining in the fun.
There isplenty of rainfall predicted for that area.Most of the fish sitting in the estuary should be entering the river as I type this.
Anglers tend to give you space, the scenery is beautiful and the Osprey's always put on a show.
I managed a few smallmouths and had a nice brown follow my 3-inch stickbait for about 15 yards. It was pretty cool, the water was clear and you could see the fish slash and slash at the stickbait. Can't wait to fish all the local streams, as they all will have a new look and feel to them. Wednesday was spent in the upper fly zone and wasslow in the morning but pretty consistent in the afternoon. I have no idea what Erie will look come late October, early November, but I am hoping they get some serious rain up there. Ialso landed a smallmouth bass, a few small brown trout, afew small rainbows (steelhead smolts ?), a fallfishand a baby AtlanticSalmon. The Mohawk egg pattern accounted for many smaller fish and the salmon sized Light Spruce fly produced a few hookups. Last years--One Day Trip-- hot fly,Olive bugger with White marabou tail and redcrystal flash also received plenty of attention and did account for 2 fish. The guyI was fishing withused plenty of flies with smaller bucktail flies doing most of the damage. He didhook-up with a few fish while usingmy Death Stonefly, landing one nice Coho.I can tell you this---the next few weeks will provide some serious action.
There are fish in the system at this moment and with the water release at 1800 CFS and the rain. All in all we landed 8 species of fish: Largemouth Bass, Smallmouth Bass, Rock Bass, Redbreast Sunfish, Bluegill, Green Sunfish, Fallfish and a Crappie.
She looks at me with a absolutely no freakn way look and goes, so daddy, How much money do I have to pay you. There is no better way to cool down in the summer heat than wet wading and catching some fish. Smallies, Largemouth Bass, Redbreast Sunfish, Bluegill and a White Perch were the fish I brought to hand. The pool we were fishing was loaded with suckers and chubs and I did see a few trout and a couple of nice sized smallmouth bass. The temps during the day were brutal and the skeeters made me pay for attempting to fish Cherry Run. I only fished where some cool tributary water emptied into Penns.Saturday was tricky with a few bugs in the air. Sunday evening was reverse fashion -- Isos then BWOs.I got a half-decent picture of a Iso stuck in the shuck. Any questions as to what to tie, just shoot me an email or use the Contact 2Bonthewater page. The fish took a CDC Sulphur pattern -- it was DARK, no light at all when the fish took the fly.
I stayed off Penns during the heat of the day-- it was 90 degrees in the afternoon on both days.
I made an attempt to fish Cherry Run and landed 2 brookies in short order on my Moth pattern. All that cold water coming from a quarry and the creek itself in that area is near lifeless. The bridge is now being painted a Hunter Green color.Most of the creeks in the OleyValley are really low. Even with the rain, the creeks remain very low.A I have a trip scheduled to the Salmon River planned inlate September thanks to Jack.
Without Jack's kindness and awesomeness, I would not be going salmon fishing.A I have startedtyingflies for the upcoming salmon trip. Zoe competed in a National Beauty pageant and won honorable mention in the beauty competition (FYI -- Zoe wears no make-up, fake hairor fake teethand she competes in the natural division--she is my little girl and I would never DRESS HER UP like all those crazy folks you see on TV).
We dressed as fishermen, answered a question about each other and then Zoe did some fly casting on stage.
The sportsman then proceeds to tell me that he is going to cross the creek and kick my BLEEPITY BLEEP. Zoe was crowned Little Queen when she won the Pennsylvania state pageant back in 2006 while competing in a Sunburst pageant.
Spoke to the gentleman again, with Ronnie explaining that the area is posted and the signs are on the road.
There are plenty of out of the way smaller streams that are teeming with Smallmouths, Carp and a variety of Panfish. They are easy to see too, especially when the wings are made of CDC.A I won't be out fishing again any time soon. If you want to wet a line--give me a shout and I'll do my best to put you on some fish.A Trout fishing locally will cease with water temps hovering around 70 degrees. Big Spring Creek, Letort, Yellow Breeches, Big Fishing Creek or Spring Creek are some of the streams that are fishable in the summer.
We can also hike along some cool mountain creeks in search of native brook trout or wild brown trout.
Perkiomen Creek -- air temp 89 degrees, checked the temperature at two spots, temps were 70 and 69 degrees -- Taken between 415-425 pmA Manatawny Creek -- air temp was 88 degrees, checked the temperature at three spots, temps were 76 degrees at Red Covered Bridge, 74 degrees above TIKI bar and 76 degrees below the Rt.
Vinny caught a Smallmouth Bass on a worm and Zoe landed a nice-sized Brown Trout on a crayfish lure.
This heatwave has made most ofthe local trout streams too warm to fishfor the catch and release angler. Maiden Creek below Ontelaunee Lake should provide anglers with some fishthat are willing to bite. You can find Carp, Smallmouth Bass, Largemouth Bassand a wide assortment of panfish to keep you busy. Take some cold water with you !!!Your best way to keep the water cool is to freeze a bottle or two of water the night before you head out. As the day heats up, the water bottles will slowly melt, leaving you with nice cold waterto drink throughout the day. I'll probably be fishing with a friend on Sunday evening or taking the rugrats to drown some worms!!! I fished for 30-minutes on Manatawny and landed 2 wild browns on a tan caddis dry fly in the area where the water temp was 68 degrees. Temperature wise, if it is 90 degrees outside, pretty sure most, if not all of the local trout waters will be at 70 degrees or higher.
We don't wantto kill the trout.The trout that survive through the summer will offerus great fishing in the fall. I have not made a trip to the Schuylkill River as of yet, but I'd bet the house that the smallie action should be pretty darn good. A Sunday, I was able to fish a local Class A water and noticed many Blue-Winged Olive spinners.
You can also takeyour watercraft outbefore Epler atCross Keys Road or at Muhlenburg Township park which is below the PFBC Epler Access.
There is little room to fish, unless you don't mind walking the shoreline that is covered with all types of vegetation, including Poison Ivy. Pleny of fish to be caught in this body of water, that is if you can get to them.A Manatawny Creek fished OK. I managed one fish landed, one fish missed and one fish lost before I had to run to the truck.
Best trick tonight was to cast down and across and inch an emerger back to the shore, pausing it at spots were a fish just rose. I made my cast---the fish slid out from under the brush---he sat in a lane with his mouth open waiting for my fly---with ease, he swallowed the fly.
No wild trout today, but the Rainbows were very colored up with beautiful pink fins and the Browns looked like they have been living in the stream for years. This stretch used to provide some very nice smallmouth action, but the last few trips here have been poor.
Thursday was brutal where I saw creeks that were in perfect shape one minute, turn into Willy Wonka within' two hours. Switched to a spent spinner pattern and hooked up twice--snapped one off and landed a nice stocker brown. The water is up from recent rains inthe valley, but the stream was clear and in perfect condition. The Schuylkill River and a few tribs shouldprovide any cat or carp angler with a few bites each nite. Channel catfish prefer dead baits andsmaller live bait, while the Flatheads prefer larger live bait. Carp will eatsmaller live bait including minnows andcrayfish along with the standard fare of homemade MUSH bait or whole kernel corn.The bottom line is--It doesn't really matter what bait you areusing. But, by now it was pitch black and it was raining pretty good and thelightning made it look like the 4th of July came early.I managed to land 2 fish on my emerger pattern androll 2 other trout.
I volunteered a few hours Sunday morning with the A Great Day Outdoors fellas, Roger and Bob who help put together the Bob and Jeff Miller Trout Fishing Clinic, which is a mentoring program for the Big Brothers and Big Sisters.The fish were provided by Mike's Tattoo and Body Piercing that is located in Reading, PA. Started out at the mouth of Sacony Creek but there was some serious bridge work going on, so I left after a few casts. I helped a few kids land some trout and was able to see many folks that I have not seen in a few years. Caught some nice bluegills, onebrown trout, pumpkinseeds, green sunfish, agolden shiner and I almost hooked into a very nice largemouth bass. We had a great time and found some really neat critters and managed to catch a fish or two. Kids and water mean plenty of noise,lots of splashing and lots offun.Normally, 750pm is about the timethe sulphurs start popping off.
We caught a good number of wild brown trout and missed many more.The slower pools had fish sipping in Little Yellow Stoneflies. Plenty of yardwork to make the little woman happy, drive happy little woman to her mother's house and call your best friend to go fish a stream you have not fished in about 15 years. I saw some Iso's and huge stoneflies coming off and flying around.I caught a trophy Bluegill, no kidding check out the picture, almost 9 inches. Saw a huge Barred Owl fly up the stream and hang out in a tree for a little bit before he flew elsewhere. He launched them up out of the water and onto the dirt bank like the bass fisherman do on tv.
After I saw him boot his 4th fish in about 20 minutes, he goes: That's what I came here for. I left my headlamp in the truck so I had to walkout before it got too dark and miss the potential spinner fall.
I then drove to another stretch of the crick and hooked up a few times fishing a brown spent spinner. I lost them at the bank.A Fish the mornings with a brown or white spent spinner and you might get a few takes on the surface. My favorite is a "John's Spring Creek Pupa" tied in size 18 and 20 (Trout Flies of The East--page 93). I caught two brookies on a CDC sulphur dry fly and the rest of the fish were caught with nymphs. What an amazing fish, especially on a 2 wt bamboo fly rod with a fly reel that is dated to the 1930's or 1940's.
What a specimen.He looked like a submarine swimming in the water !!My first impression of the leviathan is that it was a wild fish.
Tonights fishing provided a mixed bag of fish, a few smallwild brown trout, along with a few stocker browns, stockerrainbows and the brook trout. I topped it all off with a visit to Ted's house to show off the bamboo fly rod and talk shop. Two-- a stickbait--a Yozuri Pin's Minnow is my favorite-- is also tough to beat during cold, high and dirty water conditions. Three -- My favoritefor fly fishing is a 2 fly rig that consists of a bigger and brighter glowbug with a Green Weenie dropped off of it.
It was about 40 degrees and raining.I didroll a larger fish on a midge, but aside from that, it was a very slow night. Cast down and across and hop the flies upoff the bottom with quick upward lifts of the fly rod.The fish would really strike hard. If there are rainbows around, they will hammer a nicely presented egg pattern pretty much any time of the year. Local Class A waters are running at agood rate and are still on the cold side.Trout season opens next weekend for SE PA waters. Headed to the Little Lehigh and when I got there the lot was full and anglers were top to bottom. Fished the quarry hole and managed toland a few bluegill and a good number of smaller Largemouth Bass.
I still have not figured out whyone day I will catch all browns, one day I will catch all rainbows and some days, you will catch a little of everything. Most ofthe bass were taken on smaller ice spoons tipped with waxies.With the heatwave we are in, not sure how much longer the ice will be around. Drilling through the ice with my Nils 8 inch ice auger was too much for my shoulders.Hey, I have an 8 inch Nils Ice Auger for sale !!!
The PFBC was on the ice and it was the first time in over 10 years that I had my license checked.
We started the day using tungsten jigs, then switched to shrimpos and did some sight fishing. I don't question why, but I will say that the Berkley Trout Worm in a PINK or ORANGE color will usually get you a few bites. Can't wait to fish all the local streams, as they all will have a new look and feel to them.



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