seasonal | migration 12

Homeward Bound & Back {Philadelphia PA > Lewes DE > San Diego CA}

Fall on the east coast has a magical quality about it. All my physical senses trigger a heavy nostalgia that evokes primitive emotions from my past. Cool, crisp air fills your lungs with every breath while my eyes dilate in the presence of vibrant flashes of color around every corner. The distinctive smell of fire emitting from brick fireplaces reminds my body of the numbing cold. Graffiti covers everything in arms reach and beyond. Rough neighborhoods with no police in sight keeps you on your toes but allows you a freedom that safer suburbia can't. 

Life keeps moving forward but my east coast friends and family are always there for me. There are parts of the east coast that are undeniably embedded in my physique that I love to my core while living out west has its own mystique that I love as well. Seasonal Migration at its best. 

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mirrored worlds

mir•ror |ˈmirər|

1. A surface capable of reflecting sufficient undiffused light to form an image of an object placed in front of it. 
2. Something that faithfully reflects or gives a true picture of something else.
3. Something worthy of imitation.

No smoke in mirrors photoshop tricks here. I am a rabid image collector and it took me over 80 photos today to get these three interesting shots. It was drizzling this morning with billowing storm clouds looming overhead. The sun came through the clouds just as I pulled up this spotted bass and the sky and water revealed two worlds at once. 
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everything is moving

Everything is on the move these days. Friends, family, work and the bass. All my late summer early fall spots have officially shut down. Had great tides this morning but no takers in the usual spots. Had to move around a lot today to find them. Got a few bass in the front bay but nothing really was biting for how good the drifts were. Moved to the back bay and found a nice section of eel grass and the bass were all over the warblades. Ten to fifteen feet of water was the ticket. Long casts and slow retrieve. I was barely moving jig, just felt the tick, tick, tick of the grass then it would get slammed. Every hit was a hook up, they bite the hook, all mean hook sets. Super good weather and drifts. 

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degrees of separation

sol • i • tude  |  ˈsäləˌt(y)oōd  |  noun

Solitude is a state of seclusion or isolation, i.e., lack of contact with people. It may stem from bad relationships, deliberate choice, infectious disease, mental disorders, neurological disorders or circumstances of employment or situation

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