Clickety

Richard Johnston is his name. Git used to hearing it. His first album, Foothill Stomp, was frickin laser. New album “dropping” soon, yo.

http://www.richardjohnston.com/home.html

PBS doc trailer on him(this may not work…forgive me tri-lambs, forgive me) :

http://www.maxshores.com/johnston/trailer.htm

“The hardest part about learning to spey cast is telling your parents that you’re gay.”

- Cousin Jay

the guy who did that kick ass fugazi film (jem cohen) also did a shorty — about 12 minutes — about elliott smith. filmed in portland. down the street from bacon’s pad. do never test.

The Japanese, meh! After we saved their asses from the German’s in Dubya-Dubya Two we had to rebuild their country. Now they’re wining about the gift of bluegill. WTF?!

Taken from [name redacted] National Park, about a month ago. My last serious fishing trip.

Here in the wintery eastern hinterlands, one of the nice things about having a trout stream in the back yard with no closed season (yeah I know, it sucks) is that it provides a reason to go splooshing around where others don’t, at a time of the year when others simply won’t. And since it can be done under the excuse of trying to catch trout, the sideways glances of the few humans that happen by don’t linger too long. You can safely fill their thought balloons with just a couple of phrases; “out of their minds” or “hey, isn’t the fishing season closed?” Perhaps and no, now move along, these aren’t the droids you’re looking for. What they probably don’t suspect is that even if I didn’t fish, I’d likely be down here anyway, looking at cool ice formations or floating pinecones and bombing them with rocks and yelling “LOOK OUT! BADOOSH! AHHHHHH! YOU DIE JOE!”. And later, in deep dark cold January when I’m out here sipping bourbon from a flask next to a sputtery campfire, and catching trout has gone from “difficult” to “yeah right,” the fly rod in the snow bank next to the skis works as an excuse for me, too. And it’s still better than ice fishing.

But until then, it’s still purty down there with all the leaves gone.

Aftermath of the annual “chuck the punkins in the crick” phenomenon.

The first of many photos of cool ice formations that I’ll be inflicting on you this winter in lieu of fish pics. I do this only so you can share my feelings of joy and relief when things warm up in spring. You’ve been warned.

Flyreels. Boxes fulla steelhead flies. Now this.

Over the years, the Buster Faction’s been privy to more than a few shots of our man in Seattle Mingo’s sweet girl holding stuff up and we gotta say, she’s prolly the one of the superest laser badass holder uppers of stuff ever. Contender for the best, really, so we demanded he recognize her innate holding up talents by putting them up here.

Along with our first installment, Mingo and his girl who holds stuff up sent the following detailed explanation for why his girl held up what she held up:

“I figured the only proper way to start would be for us buy you fuckers a beer. When in Mexico flyfishing (re: being ripped off by panga captains), we always relax after a day fishing by consuming copious quantities of this stuff. The “Henry Weinhard’s Of Mexico”. Cheap, and best consumed painfully cold. ”

Check out that holding form. pretty gotdam laser, even linear if you really focus:

What gets us mostly is the couple’s dedication to the expanding the craft. We mean, there’s a whole lotta flyfishing watercolorists out there painting brook trout and fence posts. Lotsa dudes carve fish out of driftwood. Other sad clowns made a bit of money writing/whining about how fly fishing’s helped them whine/type their way though a midlife crisis.

These two? These two make flyfishing art.

Got an idea for something you think Mingo’s Girl should try and hold up? Thought so. Leave a msg at the beep. (and keep the shit marginally on the up-and-up, stains. Let’s not go fucking up a perfectly good weekly demonstration of Mingo’s Girl holding up more stuff, eh?)

*NOTE: i swear i’m not making this up.

so, whilst looking around for a new, used driftboat a few months back, it occurs to me that there’s a mint, badass black and white Willie 16′ x 54″ metal dory that’s been sitting unused next to this person’s garage in my neighborhood. i see the sweet thing longing and beckonin’ every damn time i go to the hardware store. for, like, three years now.

eats me alive, fellas. chines are perfect, paint’s unscratched, the thing’s always been covered and just sitting there unrowed and unloved.

me, i’m a rower, a lover and a man hell bent on getting a deal on some good, American heavy metal so i do what needs to be done: me and the dog get tuned up on a few Vitamin R Talls, sit down at the abacus and peck out a real gushy-ass, heartfelt letter about how much we’d love to row that boat if’n they was willing to sell her and seeing how it’s just been sitting there unused, we’d be willing to take it off their hands for a a decent bit of change. thinking it’s a widow’s dead husband’s boat or something, the next day i walk the letter and the dog up there (for effect) and ring the doorbell. no one answers, so i leave the note in the mailbox. even rubbed it with salmon guts for authenticity and mojo.

months or two goes by and i hear nothing, eventually ending up with a different drifty. all was forgotten about that Willie until last night, when i get this email (and again, i swear i’m not bullshitting here):

Hi there!
I’m sorry for the delayed response. I finally just got around to writing…

Anyway, it made me so sad to get your letter about the Willy. I can’t
sell it, it was a gift from my dad…and I’m waiting to buy a truck
eventually so I can pull her myself. But your letter reminded me how
neglected she is at the moment and how I need to change that in the
upcoming year. blahblahchickstuffblahblah.

I wish you luck on your search for a good boat – perhaps you’ve
already found one…

take care,
- Sonya

fools, i offer this up to point out one glaringly unfuckingreal fact:

somewhere in SE Portland, there’s a young chick with no truck and a damn fine driftboat.

discuss.

(do you see anything pathetic in this pic? no. no you don’t. take note) 

1. Ask for dating advice on “Gathering of the Klan”
2. Ask for dating advice on “Fly Fisherman”
3. Walk to the riverbank and cry, like Ian Curtis used to do
4. Sport DMB and Orvis stickers on the minivan
5. Float a river in your kickboat without fins because it’s “too dangerous”
6. Start more than one sentence a day with the following phrase: “This guide I know…”
7. Sew badges on your “fishing vest”
8. “Sure, they were $650, but they’re totally worth it…”
9. Steal “comedy” “bits” from Patrick McManus
10. Bring inadequate quantities
11. Use the term “traditionalist” to justify anything
12. Use a Gierach quote in your bulletin board sig
13. Consort with pinners
14. Combination fly fishing- sex tourism trips
15. Submit “help me” questions to dead tree corporate media in the hopes someone will publicly answer you burning question concerning what nippers you should buy
16. Leaving your GPS on in “waypoint” mode while being guided
17. Buy hotspots
18. Answering a cell phone while on the river, lake, flat, etc
19. Refusing to take sides in a fight with developers, extractive industries, the Beav etc. Remember, you will be consigned to the first ring of hell to be eternally chased by bees for this.
20. Take advertising at face value
21. Thinking that having your reel artistically anodyzed to match your alma mater’s colors is cool
22. Not airbrushing a flaming skull warrior on your driftboat
23. Edit, author or contribute to a fly fishing “blog”
24. Refuse to take a call on a Tuesday morning at 8:30am while at work because you are certain it’s your retarded buddies who are on their way to the river.
25. Subscribe to any Frank Amato publication

You can put down that Home Depot Gardening glove now that the Ove Glove is here. Unfortunately, no new combover techniques have been developed,

however, feel free to throw the fish at the camera next time.

At BWTF Ltd. we pride ourselves on being in touch with our customer’s needs, and when we learned that our readers wanted more luxury fly fishing cruises in exotic locations, well rest assured, we listened. Many of you are probably familiar with the $20,000 a week “extreme” trips offered by Orvis & NOMADS of the Sea in the fjords of Patagonia, since it seems every notable fly fishing journalist worth buying…err, “inviting,” was taken aboard this craft festooned with jet boats and its own helicopter (for getting to those hard to reach spots), then wined, dined and refined in exchange for a cookie cutter review in their respective publications. Well, it seems like a real fine trip and all, but thee BWTF team believes we can do better – much better, and more importantly, much more expensively. And so, we’re proud to announce that for the 2008 season, we will be launching the ultrasupermega-luxury yacht, the M.V. Buster:

The MV Buster is equipped with every conceivable amenity to make your fishing adventure with BWTF Ltd. the trip of a lifetime. In addition to the typical conveniences found on other mega-yachts, we have also secured a de-comissioned MV-22 Osprey, newly outfitted for comfort and style, to get you to your fishing location quickly and with the level of comfort you’ve come to expect in your income bracket. The MV Buster also offers a fully-outfitted fly boutique, gift shop and wildlife museum, an onboard Sage Castalyzer which we’ve had custom adapted for use with golf clubs as well as rods, and our own, exclusive team of Sri Lankan children working night and day down in the hold to produce all the flies needed for your expedition (custom orders please give 24 hours notice). In addition, various fly fishing celebrities (TBA) will join for select legs of the trip, offering slide shows on their impressive accomplishments and tips for catching your fish of a lifetime.

Our crew are experienced professionals, eager to attend to your every need, whether it be a Mai Tai, another fillet of endangered Chilean Sea Bass or a just a Happy Ending after a long day of adventurous angling:

In 2008, we are offering a 9-month, global circumnavigation, hitting every fishing hot spot on the map, for the very reasonable, all inclusive fare of $200,000. Please contact BWTF Luxury Tours today! Our booking agents are standing by…

* BWTF Luxury Tours is committed to maintaining high environmental standards – we purchase carbon offsets to negate our impacts, so there’s no need to feel guilty, or have uncomfortable conversations with your children about the effects of hyper-consumption – we’ll see you onboard!!

Enough. Enough with the emails, already. Please do not force us to go all “Fly Fisherman” on you and ban every IP from Canada. We get it.
OK, ready? Here goes:
“We really like Canada. Canada is OK by thee stumbly dirtbags at BWTF. We think Canada is really, really cool.”

“both sides keeping a close eye
for a break in the line here… on the Crystal Frontier”

- Calexico “Crystal Frontier” from the EP “Even My Sure Things Fall Through” 2001
 

There was a clearing off to the east side of the stream, a nice grassy area shaded by the oaks that had some good sized, flat topped rocks to sit on; a perfect spot to drop the pack and take a rest. I walked over and sat down on a rock, and while taking the pack off, I quickly observed I wasn’t the first person to find this spot useful for a rest. Scattered about the area was the jetsam of border crossers, cast off clothes, 1 gallon water jugs, cheap canvas rucks and one baby’s bottle.

I fish as a way of escape from the white noise of daily life: the bills and soul crushing cubicle life, televised pundits and blow hards, the static of endless advertising hucksterism, politics, war, ideological battles that are as relevant to the issues at hand as two medieval theologians arguing over how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.

Sometimes when you go out to get away from it all for a few hours or days, you can’t help but run into what you’re trying to get away from. Illegal immigration makes a lot of noise and heat on cable TV and talk radio, and most of that noise is xenophobic, reactionary and plain stupid. I realized that the simplistic cure-alls bandied about, like “build a wall” or “start deporting”, aren’t enough to stop the flow of migration from a neighboring country where things are so bleak that a mother with a nursing infant is willing to risk crossing the desert and a mountain range for a chance at something better.

This reminds me of Thanksgiving Break in ’82 when we built that inner tube course at Wooky’s folks’ place. What a weekend that was, hard to believe it’s been twenty five years already.

Canada: America’s Hat. Sounds harmless enough, and looks it too, what with all the maple goodness and beer stores and hockey night and low gun violence rates. Hell they’re even mostly friendly and cordial, which is enough to make me overlook their tendency to drive like amphetamine monkeys on I-90. But they were just biding their time, the smug bastards. See, the U.S. dollar’s worth crap now, so the toque-wearing hordes are pouring over the border to spend their weird money at our mecca malls. Fine & dandy, all free-tradey and nice? Great, except that they’re leaving their cast off hockey jerseys and mukluks behind.

“Carla Avery is the manager for Hurley Corporation. They manage the trash at the Galleria Mall.

“It’s just the garbage. The trash is unbelievable, keeping up on trash alone,” said Avery.

Canadian Robin Kostyscyn, “I think when they get to the border they’re trying not to get busted there, so they take everything off. They wear probably old shoes over here and then change them out, put on their new shoes.”

Well I for one am done putting up with shit from the lurking maple menace. They were on thin ice already with the reappearance of Howie Mandel, and now this fresh insult. Besides, America is supposed to be the big sloppy yard ape of the world, not Canada. Our very heritage is at stake. RESIST, I say!

First Published in 1963, back in them old timey days before you could buy the answers to questions you didn’t know you had. So old timey, it doesn’t even list the bobbin in the tools section and a bodkin is refered to as a “stylet”, and it tells you how to make your own by embedding a needle in a wood dowel. Want to make your own waxed thread, blend your own dubbing, and air cure a freshly boned bucktail- it’s in here. Doesn’t show you how to tie a single fly, but shows you the techniques to tie any fly. And it’s your lucky day ’cause there is one copy left on Amazon. Hold your praise, it’s alright

3:00am The alarm is going off

3:01 Coffee pot turned on

3:50 Truck is loaded, pre-trip paranoia off set by double checking rods, reels, day pack, chest pack, fly boxes

3:55 Going north on AZ90, Rancho Merde Classic Rock 96.1 is playing Thin Lizzy’s “Jail Break” fuck yeah that’s right

4:30 Pre-Trip paranoia returns “you forgot your reel didn’t you” feel blindly in the passenger seat until it is located. Watch freight train, going to pick up plastic chinese crap in Long Beach, fade in and out of view in the pre-dawn dark.

5:30 Hit traffic in Phoenix, reminded of Hunter S Thompson’s quip “Hell will be a viciously overcrowded version of Phoenix”

6:30 Dawn breaking over the Superstition Mountains, Weaver’s Needle in sharp relief

8:00 Pull into the Knotty Pine Cafe, meet up with Jon, flap jacks and coffee

8:30 On the stream (and no, I won’t say which one). Questioning the decision to go with the light weight fleece and leave the heavier one and the gloves in the day pack back at the truck.

10:00 Skunk off with a nice bow on a dry, followed up by browns.

1:00 Lunch, enjoy snadwhich artistry

2:00 Go to Fool’s creek, get stumped by bow’s with lockjaw under a rock. Find a massive bow, massive for this creek at least, hiding under an undercut bank. No rise for a dry, tie on wooly bugger, flail the 1ft wide channel for several minutes. Tip my hat in graceful defeat

4:00 Go back to supermarket where my truck is parked, check to make sure catalytic converter is still attached.

5:30 Realize Phoenix is an alternate universe. Took the 202 East coming in, and going outbound one reasons that the 202 West will get them to I10 just outside of Tempe and hopefully past the double hell of rush hour and holiday traffic. Wrong, 202 West dropped me off on I10 just north of the airport. Spend 2 hours going 10 miles. Plans to get gas thwarted by heavy traffic and the impossibility of getting from the left lane to the right lane.

7:45 Low gas light pings on in the big empty past Tempe.

8:00 Pull into the Casas Blancas Reservation. Fill tank, get coffee and cheap smokes. Good coffee for that late in the day.

8:15 Take call from Doszapatos, get cut off by low battery

8:30 Tucson, light traffic, thank you Jeebus

10:00 Pull into Rancho Merde