The other day, my AARP card arrived in the post. Like most things in life, this can be viewed from the perspective of a glass half empty, or a glass half full. While the half empty side is perhaps most obvious and easily contemplated, the glass half full is the prudent one to focus on. OK, so standing against a wall, I can no longer pee above head height, and maybe my bones creak a little more each morning, but growing old is a hell of a lot better than the alternative, and I’ve got a card to prove it.
And the card does mark another milestone in my Americanization. First there was buying my first Chevrolet, then my first hangover thanks to Coors Brewing Company, citizenship, the emotion of my first jury summons – ( trial cancelled – wahoo ) and now here I am, feet even more firmly under Uncle Sam’s table.
Another reason to be particularly happy, is that right now it is July, the river has dropped and is running clear, and the dry fly fishing is off the charts. Gone are the cold winds of spring, the layers of goretex and fleece, nymph rigs and rock dodging at 250 cfs. Right now, and hopefully for the next several weeks, is as close to fly fishing nirvana as you could hope to see around here. Lots of fish, all hungry, sitting tight to the banks, and looking up.
And there is plenty around for the fish to be feeding on. Caddis, stoneflies, mayflies and hoppers. On a recent trip down Browns Canyon, it didn’t matter what fly was presented, as long as it floated on the surface, close to the bank, with a natural drift and the odd twitch being thrown in for good measure.
It is amazing how quickly summer is flying by. Memo to the Creator, whoever he or she may be – why can’t summer pass by as slowly as winter seems to? These conditions, with good hatches, warm weather and stable water flows will hopefully continue for the next several weeks. If you are only going to fish a few times a year, now is the time to get out there. If you are contemplating taking up the sport of angling, now is the time to call up your local guide service and book a trip. And if your spouse or significant other is bitten with the fishing bug, now is the time to loosen the leash and let them get out there for a bit. After all, soon it will be winter again, and then you’ll be looking for any excuse to get them out of the house.
Few things are more quintessential to the Colorado fly fishing experience than a remote alpine meadow, a meandering stream, and a dry fly. Take a look through a copy of the Colorado Gazetteer or similar publication, and there are literally hundreds, if not thousands, of small streams and high lakes just waiting for an angler with a back pack, a fly rod, and the willingness to expend a little time and energy.
We live in an age of the drive thru, drive up and drive in. In the name of convenience, we have allowed ourselves to become sedentary to the point where for some the thought of walking to the mail box, or on anything other than pavement, is an anathema. Consequently, many anglers seldom stray out of sight of their vehicle or the highway. Personally, I think this is great – it leaves plenty of space for those willing to burn a few calories. We are social creatures, after all, so for many fishermen, the presence of others close by can seem comforting. There is a sense of security in numbers, plus the reassurance that if there are others in the same spot casting a line out, then I must be fishing in a likely place also.
So it is fun to be able to step outside of your comfort zone every now and then, leave the crowd and the truck behind, and experience the call of a place that at least has the impression of being wild and remote. Encountering fresh bear poop on the trail serves as a reminder that we are not always top of the food chain. The sight if a fox, scampering through the sage brush, the cry of a red tail hawk as it surfs the thermals, remind an interloper such as myself that I am a guest only in someone else’s domain. This is the time of the year the wild flowers are starting to bloom, the meadows cloaked in a veritable rainbow of different hues.
Of all the different types of trout I fish for, the ones that inhabit these high alpine streams, lakes and beaver ponds are the ones I admire the most. A short growing season, limited food source and long, harsh winters are testament to their resilience. Their ability to conceal themselves from predation never ceases to amaze me, materializing from the rocky stream bed or under cut bank to quickly snatch a passing morsel and dissolving, phantom like, back into their surroundings. Their very presence is witness to the universal push of all living things to survive and procreate.
Late spring and early summer, with the larger rivers swollen and high, is the perfect time to escape to the high country for a little solitude, and with it the opportunity to gain a wider appreciation of the world we live in, and the creatures we share it with.
The last few weeks, it has been great to see another side of the Arkansas River’s character to the fore – that of a raging, snow melt fed cataract. Certainly in my days as a white water guide, this was the time of the year I, and most guides, lived for. High water, heart-in-the-mouth thrills, nervous energy and tension at the beginning of the day, boat house bravado at the end.
For the fisherman, this is the time of the year to leave the river well alone, and head to the hills in search of a lake just iced off, or some beaver ponds up high where the beaver’s industry and ingenuity have combined to create a haven of slow water amongst the fast moving, swollen streams. Right now in the river, the fish are for the most part hunkered down, riding out the storm, and like most fishermen, waiting for the river to drop and clear.
By the end of the month, we should be back into some great dry fly action, but for a poor sap like me who has been too busy to take a trip up into the mountains, a look back at a great day of spring fishing will have to suffice. Certainly, it is hard to imagine we are looking at the same river, but I guess a ten fold increase in volume will change the complexion of most rivers.
On this particular day, I had the pleasure of floating the river with a couple of gents from back east. While this is normally my cue to hide my wallet and car keys, and lock away the silverware, on this occasion I knew I would be in good, civilized company. One of the great things about guiding, in fact probably the only thing that keeps you going, is the opportunity to meet new people and make new friends. Having fished with Cliff before, I had a feeling whoever he brought along with him was going to be fun, and so it proved to be. Hopefully, this ill be the first of many trips out this way for Joe also. Any man who ties on his own flies, and brings cold Modelo, is welcome on my boat anytime.
We had a great day on the river, not the heavy dry fly action we had been hoping for, but a terrific day with the fish hitting bead heads throughout. Once the river clears up, hopefully right after FIBark, we should start to see some great stone fly action. Already I have noticed both golden and yellow sallie adults around on the bushes near the river, and with the pmd’s getting ready to hatch also, we are on the cusp of what for me is the best time of the year to be a fisherman living in the Arkansas Valley.
It sure has been a funny old spring. Pretty dry, but cold and windy. We’ve watched over the last couple of months as the snow pack has shrunk from around 100 per cent of average to around 80 per cent. And yet, very little, if any, of that precious moisture has made its way down the river. Rather, it has been blown to the heavens, hopefully seeding clouds somewhere that needs precipitation more than we do.
The cooler temperatures had been keeping what snow we do have up there from melting into the river. These same cooler temperatures had also prevented the water temperatures from warming up to a place where the caddis can hatch. Until recently that is. Finally things have warmed up and settled down to where we are enjoying some spectacular fishing. Normally, by well into the third week in May, the river is starting to rise and murk up, but the delayed melt is providing fishermen with a bonus couple of weeks of great dry fly activity. Although blanket hatches have been few and far between, there are enough bugs on the water and in the air to have the fish looking up and feeding actively.
And did I mention that it has been windy? The last few weeks have been some of the windiest I can recall in twenty years of spring time floating. Some days you come off the water feeling like your shoulders have been stretched out of their sockets from standing on the oars trying to slow the boat down and avoid high siding on rocks in a tail wind, or else pushing grimly into the teeth of a gale like you are using a bench press machine for seven hours straight. The trick for the fisherman has been to get the flies to where the fish are, that is along the banks in the slower water where they always hang out.
And when you can get them there, the fishing has been great. Fish have been feeding consistently on baetis and caddis patterns, until recently mainly below the surface, taking pheasant tails, hare’s ears, hot wire princes, RS2’s throughout the day. Now they are looking up consistently, taking caddis dries, royal stimulators, wulffs and blue wings. This particular day on the video, floating from Trading Post to Texas Creek,the afternoon in particular was spectacular, with the fish feeding off the surface, actively chasing anything that came their way. And it looks like we might get another week or so of great conditions before run off begins in earnest, so take advantage of it while you can.
To date, it has been a funny old spring, fishing-wise. Generally, this time of the year, fishing conditions are relatively stable, and water levels are as unlikely to move as is a frenchman living next to a brothel. However, this spring weather patterns have seen more ups and downs than is normal. Late season low level snow melt combined with heavy, much needed rain murked up the river and saw it for a time flowing at summer time levels. All of this has combined to keep the water temperatures below the level required for a consistent caddis hatch. The Mother’s Day hatch, as it is called in these parts, is one of the red letter events on the western fishing calendar, drawing hopeful fishermen from near and far and injecting dollars into the local economy.
Those fishermen turning up with the expectation of balmy spring days and casting dry flies to eager, brainless fish have been offered a reminder that in fishing, as in life, things don’t always go according to plan. Bhuddism teaches us that attachment is the source of unhappiness, and consequently expectation the mother of disappointment. On the other hand, being grateful for what is, is the first step to appreciation of how much you really have.
In his highly readable and perceptive book, Pavlov’s Trout, author, psychologist and fisherman Paul Quinnett posits the theory that when ranking the reasons why men and women go fishing, actually catching a fish figures way down the list. They call steelhead “the fish of a thousand casts” on account of their elusiveness, and Quinnett, a North West steelhead fisherman, sat down one day to do some rough mental calculations. No doubt at the suggestion of his wife, he began to figure out the amount of time, money and resources he spent chasing steelhead relevant to the amount of time he spent with one actually on the line.
It rapidly became obvious to Quinnet that economically speaking at least, for a pastime he would be better off taking up bowling and tossing twenty dollar bills out of his car window as he drove around town. The same could be said for fisherman of any persuasion, be they Bubba with his bass boat, Bahamas bone fishermen, or the humble Arkansas River fly fisherman. If fishing is ever reduced to it’s economic components, it ceases to make sense. If catching a fish is the be all and end all of the endeavor, then ultimately the fisherman will be left empty handed, both literally and spiritually.
Now don’t get me wrong – I am no saint. If I didn’t catch a few every now and then, I would probably give it up pretty quickly, but sometimes, you need to go looking for the real point of the day. If you get too wound up in equating success with numbers, you often fail to realize that that vaguely irritating feeling in your nether regions was actually a good time biting you in the butt. You were just a little too wound up in the process to notice. As a guide, my heart sinks a little when I encounter the competitive fisherman, the fish counter and the “why aren’t they biting?” worrier.
Just being able, physically, geographically and materially, to spend time on the river for pure recreation puts you ahead of the vast majority of the world’s inhabitants. Sure, we all want to catch a bunch of fish, but making that the measure of success or failure is only setting yourself up for disappointment more often than not. Fortunately, on this trip, I was with kindred spirits. Spinning yarns and having a laugh were the order of the day, especially as the fish didn’t keep us, particularly me, very busy. We caught a few fish, and at least on my part, managed to botch a fair few opportunities, while some great drifts went unnoticed and unappreciated by the fish. But how bad could it be? A lovely spring afternoon, a couple of brewskis, friends and a river to float.
The current volcanic activity in Iceland is reminder to the human race about who is really in charge here. We might like to think we are in control, but every now and then Mother Nature has a way of effortlessly reasserting herself. A little closer to home, rain and low level snow melt are lately having as much of an impact on the humble fisherman as volcanic ash is on international travel and commerce.
Fishing at springtime is generally fraught with variables. Wind, fluctuating water temperatures and changeable weather can combine to make even the most sagacious of anglers eat humble pie. This year, heavy rain and a belated melt of low level snow have produced a greater degree of unpredictability than usual. Below Salida, Badger Creek has been busy emptying murky water into the Arkansas, giving the river the color of late May runoff , while a recent heavy and much welcome overnight rain brought a nice slug of murky water all the way downstream from Granite.
Consequently, hatches have been sporadic, fishing a little unpredictable, and you have to make sure you bring your own fun along with you. Fortunately, with Mort and Will as fishing buddies, fun is seldom in short supply, even if I spend more time snagging sticks, hooking rocks and tangling in trees than catching fish. Right now, with the variable conditions, it is more important than ever to: 1) have an adequate supply of beer on board, and 2) keep an eye on water temperature as it changes throughout the day. Cooler temps in the morning mean more midge activity, with blue wings and caddis becoming more active as the day advances and the sun warms the water.
Of course, hatching bugs and feeding fish don’t necessarily go together. I have yet to see consistent dry fly activity, with the fish still preferring to take their food sub surface when they are in the mood. For me lately, pheasant tails and olive caddis pupae have been the best producers, with micro olive mayflies worth a cast or two also.
If you can believe the ten day weather forecast, this warming trend should continue, with hopefully more consistent hatches and predictable feeding patterns. Nevertheless, in the meantime take along a sense of humor, keep changing your flies around, and be thankful you are not stranded in an airport departure lounge somewhere.
For up to the minute fishing conditions, click here.
One of the dangers of living in Salida, with a river running through it, and a ski area close by, is that you can get a little too selective on the days you choose to recreate, thereby missing out on some great opportunities that others living in a big city somewhere would crawl across hot coals for. Easter Sunday was nearly such a time. Sitting in the comfort of home over breakfast, it was almost all too easy to listen to the gusting wind, watch the trees swaying and almost feel the bite of the wind and decide to stay indoors. Fortunately, the prospect of fishing with a good mate, Jim, who was in town for the weekend, tipped the scales in favor of heading out to the river to see what was really going on.
After all, how bad could it be? If things were too cold and inhospitable, the truck was only a few minutes away, and I’d be back home cracking a beer at noon instead of three. Either way, win – win. And so Jim and I headed out to check things out in person. Certainly wind complicates fishing, but if you aren’t prepared to deal with it from time to time then you automatically disqualify yourself from a significant number of days on the river. And wind also is a great leveler when it comes to casting. Anyone can cast like a rock star when the air is calm, but wind exposes deficiencies in technique like nothing else. For me, the solution is to take a heavier rod, in this case a 5wt, shorten the leader, and lengthen the cast.
A shortened leader makes it more difficult to present a fly delicately, but it does help the leader to roll out fully, and the disturbance caused by the wind on the surface of the water helps hide most blemishes in technique. Making longer casts may sound counter intuitive, but the more line you have out there, the more mass there is to power up the rod on the backcast. Lastly you need to throw a real tight loop. The further behind vertical your rod wanders on the backcast, the wider the loop, and consequently the greater the wind resistance.
This time of year, the blue wings are particularly active, so arriving at the river I went for a dry / dropper rig with Klinkhammer on top and a micro olive mayfly as the dropper. For the first part of the day, the dropper worked extremely well. The fish I caught seemed to be holding in water around knee to thigh deep in places where there was a steady current, particularly at the tail outs of rapids and riffles. Jim stuck to a dry fly rig, and got several fish also. After an hour or so, we moved to another spot downstream, and a drop in the wind also coincided with a pretty nice blue wing hatch. It was here that the fun really started.
Give me a choice, and I’ll fish with a dry fly over any other kind of fly any day. Fishing with dries is to me both the most fun, but also potentially the most frustrating way to fish. Fishing with nymphs involves a lot of guess work as to where the fish are, and what if anything they are feeding on. When fishing dries to rising fish, you can see the fish, you can see what they are eating, and yet they can still manage to make you look foolish. Patience is the key. A fish that is close to the surface actually has a very narrow range of vision, so unless you get your fly in exactly the right place, it can easily float by them unseen. Then there is the competition from the naturals. When there are dozens of real ones floating by, you need to be spot on with your choice of fly, and presentation, especially when the water is low, slow and clear. After messing around with a few different patterns, the good old parachute adams came through and delivered a few fish.
The result was some of the funnest action I have had in a long time. Certainly I got spanked more often than I succeeded in hooking up, but it is often the spankings that you remember long after the catches have faded from memory. And so a day that was very nearly called off at the outset turned out to be most memorable. So, thanks to the fish, thanks to the blue wings, and thanks to Jim for not laughing too hard.
Last Tuesday was a delightful foretaste of what is to come, both from fishing and weather point of view. After what has seemed like a long cold winter, Tuesday was one of those days that was filled with the promise of a spring and summer on the way. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Although I am sure there are still a couple of wintery surprises left, we are basically over winter’s hump, so to speak. So an afternoon with the temperature in the seventies, floating on the river and catching a few fish to boot was an afternoon to be savored. And as easy as it is to complain about winter’s grip, it is hard to not be grateful for all that snow on the ground. Ranchers will hopefully have plenty of water for irrigating, and those of us who recreate or make our living on the river should have more than enough to enjoy ourselves.
After last week’s ignominious spanking, I was keen to get back in the ring for another go round as soon as possible. Fortunately, time and circumstance combined to allow Kevin, Noel and myself a few hours for a shot at redemption. In the spirit of bipartisanship and outreach to those less fortunate, we allowed Noel, an accomplished spin fisherman, to ride along. Kevin, smart lad that he is, ensured there were a few PBR’s along for the trip this time around. The rules are clear in these circumstances. If you don’t know how to row, you fish in the back of the boat, and if you are a spin fisherman, you are not allowed to catch any fish either.
Noel, gentleman that he is, obliged on both counts. This is not to imply any deficiencies on Noels account, or to make any claims for the primacy of one style of fishing over another, but rather that Tuesday was a day for flies over spinners. Although anything can happen on a daily basis, it seems that the fish are still a little too lethargic to aggressively chase a lure, while they are slowly moving out to the edges of the river to feed on the stonefly and mayfly nymphs that are currently active, as well as the awakening caddis. While Noel was up the back of the boat engaged in his dark arts, Kevin and I were fishing a golden stonefly nymph with a small caddis larva or an RS 2 behind it. Each fly was effective, in itself reflective of the propensity and variety of insect activity taking place right now. It is not just we who are emerging, cold and cramped from our hovels into the light of a new season. The stoneflies are molting, there were blue wings floating in the back eddies, and we even spotted a few early caddis flying about. There are over forty species of caddis on the Arkansas, so while the main hatch of brachycentrus is still a few weeks way, there are others active right now.
Despite the bugs flying around, we didn’t see a fish rise the whole afternoon. It will probably take a couple of cloudy days and a prolonged mayfly hatch or two to get them looking up with consistency. I would expect a nymph rig to be the most consistent producer for the next couple of weeks, but still keep a dry fly rod with an adams and a sprout baetis handy if you spot any risers. The most productive water for us were the riffles and the associated pockets of water along the banks. There has been some cloudiness to the water on account of the low level snow melt going on at the moment. Castle Gardens just east of town has been particularly responsible for much of the discoloration, but that should be pretty much passed by now, unless more snow comes along. Besides, at these lower flows, I prefer a little cloudiness to the water over it being gin clear. That little bit of murk helps to hide the flaws of a hack like me.
One door closes, and another opens. So while Monarch is getting ready to wind down after what has turned out to be a pretty good season, it is getting near time to put away the boards and skis for a few months. It is also time to break out the bikes, kayaks and fly rods and look forward to another great summer season in the mountains.
Sooner or later in every person’s life, there comes a time when you have to put your money where your mouth is. Walk the talk. Put up or shut up. And so today, it was my turn. I have gone to great lengths in the past to convince fishing clients and fellow anglers that catching fish is not really what fishing is about. Usually this conversation comes at the end of a long hard day when the fish haven’t been co-operative and you are looking for pearls of wisdom to help cushion the disappointment of being skunked.
And so today was my turn. Along with Cody Kuester, it was time to christen the boat for the season and float the river for the first time this year. The weather, in the form of snowstorms, had forced the cancellation of a couple of trips planned over the last couple of weeks, but this Monday afternoon was the day. We set off above town with the water lovely and clear, and a gentle breeze pushing us down the river. Now one of the challenges of fishing at this time of the year is to try and figure out the dynamic. There are so many variables – weather, water temperature and clarity, no to mention insect activity, that make fishing this time of the year so unpredictable. Apres run off, it seems a fisherman can set cruise control – water levels are stable, clarity generally good and water temperatures are conducive to bugs hatching and active fish.
Spring time, it tends to be more of a roller coaster. Red hot one day, flatlined the next. Summer time, they will feed on pretty much anything – stone flies, caddis, pmds – if it floats, they’ll eat it. Spring time it seems they are a lot more finicky, keying in on one stage of one particular insect. One day it will be stone fly nymphs, the next baetis emergers, the next caddis larva. Sometimes all of the above at different times of the same day.
So all of this is a round about way of trying to explain why we didn’t catch anything. Below town, the water was murked up some owing to the work currently being done on the whitewater park, and while that didn’t help, its not like we were slaying them above town. Incidentally, it is great to see the next phase of the park happening. This is an excellent project, and kudos to the Arkansas River Trust and all others involved.
When in doubt, blame the weather, so maybe the day was too fine and sunny. Or maybe the fact that we didn’t have any beer along was to blame – getting skunked was the fish’s way of revoking our Man Cards. We can read all the books, have all the gear and spout all the theories, but still we are only one half of the equation. If the fish haven’t reading from the same book, then all fishing really is about is a fishing rod with a jerk on one end. The point is that at this time of the year, we could go and float the same stretch again tomorrow, throw the same flies, and catch a bunch of fish. One of my intentions with the videos is to show fishing how it really is, not like some heavily edited ESPN show where the fisherman never screws up a cast, and never misses a fish. So while my initial reaction was to delete the footage and try again next week, I decided I had better be true to my creed and celebrate a day on the river for what it is – always fun, sometimes challenging, and always better than most other things you could be doing.
A beer would have been nice though. Of course, all the usual accompaniments for a day on the river came along: a bit of wind, some tangles, a few lost flies, everything but the fish. And beer. Did I mention we left that behind? Hopefully the fish will be gracious enough to return my card to me next time.
As the wind howled and the snow flew the other night, I got to thinking about how before kids entered our lives, Kym and I would be preparing to head Down Under at this time of the year. Sitting up late at night, I would be tying flies that in a few days would be cast to summertime fish on the other side of the world. And that was what got me feeling all nostalgic and inspired to put together this little slideshow of past New Zealand adventures.
Of the many things I like about winter, one is the opportunity it gives to slow down and reflect on matters both critical and superfluous. Like, do real men fish in the snow or choose to keep their cojones warm by the fire? I thought about this the other day as I checked out an ad for a popular fly rod manufacturer. In the ad, a couple of guys, grim faced and manly, are floating a river in the grips of a blizzard. Icicles hanging from their various appendages, the underlying message is this: nothing gets in the way of a real man’s pursuit of fish, and real men fish with Brand X rods. Personally, as a guide I have seen way too much parking lot bravado on a cold snowy morning turn, after an hour on the river, into sniveling shivering pleas for mercy and the nurturing warmth of the great indoors to be too impressed with this sort of marketing.
But it does raise some interesting questions, both genetic and cultural. In my native New Zealand, your average fisherman would quietly back away, lock the door, make a mental note to be more discreet in their choice of friends, and toss another log on the fire if you showed up in the middle of a snow storm and suggested getting a line wet. This is in part because down there most rivers are closed to fishing over the winter months to allow the fish a modicum of peace and privacy as they wine, dine and procreate with each other. Thus, the likelihood of such an invitation is greatly reduced. Also, while we do get extremes of weather in New Zealand, for the most part things are a little more temperate than here in the mountains, so fishing in the rain is more of a reality that in snow and ice.
Here, it seems there are many fishermen who think nothing of braving the elements in search of a hook up or two. While I have guided plenty of times in snow, sleet and hail, I have at least been getting paid to do so, and usually question the sanity of the guy paying for the experience. Of course, venturing over to South Park for a trip to the Platte is often an exercise in rolling the dice with hypothermia no matter what the time of year. There is a case to be made for heading out in inclement weather if you have driven a thousand miles or so to get to the river, but surely for those of us that live in the mountains, there is no such pressure.
So what other predispositions set apart the North American fisherman from his southern counterpart? One is perhaps an over reliance on gear. One of the traits we Kiwis pride ourselves on is self reliance. Give us a piece of #8 fencing wire and a roll of duct tape, and we’ll build or fix anything. Give us a couple of flies, a spool of tippet, and a six weight, and we’re ready to go. Compare that to your average American fisherman, with a vest that weighs thirty five pounds, eight fly rods, fifteen reels, and of the twenty-six fly boxes in his possession, the one he ‘needs’ is back at home on the kitchen counter.
Another is the difference in need for a certain level of information to feel comfortable in their surroundings. This was perhaps first brought home to me after my first year of guiding here on the Arkansas, back then primarily as a whitewater guide. The comparison and innuendo between New Zealanders and sheep is well known. [ All I will say on the matter is this: don't knock anything until you've tried it. ] Anyway, take a Kiwi on a river trip, and all you have to say to them is ” Put on a wetsuit, grab that lifejacket, pick up a paddle, and get in the van. We’re off.” There is a level of trust, for better or worse, that the person in charge knows what they are doing, and all will be revealed in good time. Say the same thing to an American, and you get the following response: “Which lifejacket? How many paddles did you say? Should I sit in the front of the van, or the back. Is there a bathroom in the van? How long is the ride? Can I bring a snack? Will there be a bathroom at the river? Should I go to the bathroom now? How many rocks are there in the river? Where’s your bathroom?”
So, as we move into winter, you probably won’t see me on the river too much, except for maybe on a blue bird day. I’ll probably be up at Monarch, or keeping the crown jewels safe and warm by the fire, dreaming of long summer days, clear water and big fish Down Under. But I do salute those hardy souls who choose to venture out on the river when all measures of common sense say to stay inside.
