In our ongoing efforts to bring you the funk that surrounds our sport, we turn the spotlight on writer, bard, lit professor, cartoonist, avid naked fishing competitor and originator of the Bugger Duck (a bugger sort of thing that incorporates duck tape), Mr. Greg Keeler.

Greg was good enough to drop by the Buster Bunker for a little chat over sum whikky. A few highlights:

BWTF: Have you been successful at incorporating duck tape into other flies besides the Bugger Duck?

GK: Yes, lots. In one of my favorites, I hold a little strip of lead against the shank of a #14 hook and wrap it on with a tiny strip of duck tape. Then I pull two or three whiskers from my beard, tape them on and trim them for a tail. I have to use a vice on this one, what with my sausage fingers and all. It works really well during winter thaws. I call it Industry on Parade.

I also tape a dry fly called Styrodeath. I tape up the shank of a #6-12 long shank hook then cut a little strip of styrofoam from a cup and tightly wrap it in tape on the taped hook. It works well in the summer. I guess trout think it’s a beetle. Sometimes I’ll tape some beard whiskers so they stick back from the head. I guess they think it’s some kind of half-assed grasshopper.

BWTF: Is a follow-up to your album, “Troutball” in the works? If so, may we be so bold as to suggest it be called, “Fyshnutz?”

GK: Fyshnutz–hmmmm. Or perhaps carpspooge? I’ll be working on it

BWTF: After reading the “Epiphany of the Weeping Sucker” we were so moved that we erected a Ding Dong altar in a corner of the Buster Bunker. Fortnightly, we leave a shot glass of whiskey on top of the altar, and, God’s honest truth - fifthmorningly we awake to find it consumed. Have you had any similar sucker-natural experiences?

GK: Yes, I’ve had several sucker-natural experiences. Last year I caught a sucker that was twice as big as God. I placed it on an oil-drum sacrificial alter and left it for three days. On the third day, I returned, and lo, an angel of the mud had removed many tiny cubes from its flesh (presumably to use for bait). It looked like a decaying meat quarry.

White Fish Blues (click for audio version)

When I see rainbow jumpin’,
Make me want to pinch my barb ’cause she’s so fine.
Yes, when I see rainbow jumpin’,
Make me want to pinch my barb ’cause she’s so fine.
But when I see white fish poppin in a patch of scum, Baby,
I don’t even want to wet my line….

Now that there’s just hella good songwritin’ no matter how you slice it, son. Check out Greg’s site for a whole multifarious treasure trove of piscatorial funkitude:

Fish for BASS more often. Little hatchery dinks are okay from time to time, but put that little rainbow down and go after big mouth. He’s always hungry.

Fish more in 2008.

Motivational pic brought to you by some lucky fellar’s truck in Western North Carolina.

Talking Heads ’80 with Adrien Belew – Crosseyed & Painless

Junior Kimbrough, “Sad Days and Lonely Nights” (Smiff’s countrybution):

Enter The Haggis – C Section

Once in a generation, a musical collaboration occurs that breaks the bounds of the performers’ respective genres. For today I present the “Evil Elvis”, Glenn Danzig, performing with Shakira. Lyrics include

“The way you dance

makes me wanna speak spanish

burrito, dorito, fiesta, anti-pasta”

Fucking poetry that; and a singing credit belongs to the wolf at the 22 second mark

Band Called Bud – Blue Mountain (creeklove)

The almighty SUNNO))) offer a relaxing tune for a leisurly drive to thee river (thee)

Wallace Taylor hearts Yoshimi

bacon cheese bacon burger wiff bacon mustard

The Pinky Proof. Courtesy of rutenschwinger.blogspot.com

leastwise, it was about as close to church as me, the banknote and the Double R were gonna be allowed without sobering up some and relinquishing our kung-fu grip on that whisky bottle.

which was not about to happen. it was Kwaanzaa or something, for Christ ‘s sake.

been pushing salmon season well into the last days here in Central Washington and getting paid, laid and stanky with the boat funk for our persistence. really fucking cold out there now. and wet. that icy, january rain, but in december. january’s got the worst rains of the year. march, see, that’s gravy rain. smells like a yellow summer dress and green jolly ranchers.

been a hella fine season, frankly, despite a lotta loud voices whining “worst gotdam salmon season ever!” through every bar, little cafe and computer screen as they watch their Northwest heritage disappear in the name of “economic relief” and progress.

guess last year, hatcheries, logging, slides and siltation that mighta been caused by logging, dairies puking biologic hell into the estuaries and a whole slew of other man-made horseshit only might have been “allegedly” killing our salmon here for the last 70 years, but those environmentalists trying to take away our gotdam liberties were the real problem.

this year, i hear a whole different tune sung with a real pissed tone by these same folks at the boat launches and takeouts. folks are questioning why our rivers blow out so fast and stay out. why slides in heavily logged drainages keep happening despite the Big Timber and pro-timber stacked Fish and Forestry boards saying everything’s fine. why the estuaries aren’t nursing the young of the year like they used to and why hatchery frankenfish fish are so fucking retarded compared to their wild counterparts, the latter of whom numbers continue plummeting deep into ESA-listed levels. folks that were called nutjob enviros last year (and the 70 years prior) are finding an audience. apparently, some good can come out of a down year. hopefully.

“the fish are just bonus” said the Cap’n a long time ago, and i’m pretty sure he was only on beer three when he said it, so you know that came out clean and with the right intent. i gotta think he’s right, too.
still, there’s the larder’s that need stocking seeing as how no one in the crew got an archery elk this year and we gotta keep our ladies in wild meat lest they start looking crosswise at the local butcher. thus, it’s the rock shampoo a few salmon get.

bucks only tho, and only a few of those a year. all hens swim free and untouched, ’cause we’re good to the ladies:

jesus, i hope y’all had a fine solstice.

A merry festivus/solstice/christmas/hannukkah/kwanza/whatever excuse you need to get yer jrink on from the inmates at Buster. Thanks for tunin’ in, now git out and fish.

Willie: “I said ‘Next’ goddamit, this is not the DMV!”

Have a Patrick Swayze Christmas, everybody.

CHRISTMAS IS AWESOME!

Tired of washing that South Island dust down with a brew that’s just a bit too mal-mal-mal-malty? Despair no more, exalted globetrotting anglers of transplanted invasive apex predator species, for reports from afield rate Epic Ale a hoppy wonder as sure to delaminate the palate as it is to quench that thirst only a gaping hole in the ozone could ever deliver. My own salivary glands are cramping in anticipatory glee.

Check ‘em out, they even have a beer blog.

I had the chance to travel Hwy 84 in South Georgia on Friday. Peanut, cotton, and soybean fields flank both sides. Nice little towns.  Lots of quail and no holiday traffic.

40 birds for the freezer

I was running down a rumor on a pond nestled in a high valley of the Huachuca’s; I had a topo map indicating a pond and a strip map of the trails to take to get there. Altogether, that’s quite a bit of info on water in this area. I planned to drive up the canyon road until I got to an abandoned cabin, although evidence at the site indicates it’s now a migrant way station. On the drive up, the stream I explored earlier this fall was iced over

and while it didn’t bode well for the pond at higher elevation, I still figured it was worth a shot, at least to see if it looked fishy or dead. Across from the stream I could see a cliff face encased in chain link and concertina wire fencing, and I walked over to see what was there.

The underside of the cliff was recessed about 8 feet from the main wall, and the underhang was about 6 feet high. On the wall and roof were Apache pictographs.

Some research back at the house indicated that these dated to around 1700 AD and that the pictographs had significant mythical and religious meaning and the site was probably sacred to the local Chiricahua Apache.

Further up and across the road were the red and black pictographs of the ancient Hohokam, contemporary to the Mogollon people to the northeast and east and the Anasazi further north and probably dates to around 1200 AD.

The falling figure above, according to my research, indicates death.

Why were they here? Same reason I was- water, wood, game. They probably came up here to hunt and if successful they would not be subsisting solely on prickly pear or mesquite beans that winter. At the Hohokam site, the underhang had a barrier of stones around the base, indicating that they probably stayed overnight in this spot, lighting fires and the warmth would be reflected off the rock onto the cliff wall. It’s easy to imagine the Apache brining the young males up here for vision quests or other strong medicine at their cliff. When you’re an Anglo operating on a 225 year timeline, it’s a “holy fuck” moment. 

I climbed to the top of the cliff and looked east

and then north

while above us all floated the demi-god of the border; the all seeing eye of a Border Patrol survelliance blimp.

I eventually made it to the pond, after choosing the wrong fork at a cross roads and having to back track after walking into the southern boundry of the post. The pond was posted “No Fishing” and I walked back to the truck, cursing the management. Driving down the canyon, a bobcat ran across the road with a cottontail in its mouth, reminding me that posting a pond doesn’t make the area less wild.

A festive holiday story that I ran across a few years back, that I like to share at this merry time of year. I give you The Power of Lutefisk!

Money quote: “If you can taste the difference between caviar on a cracker and ketchup on a Kit-Kat while blindfolded, you have not had enough aquavit to be ready for lutefisk.”

Celebrity Winter Advice from teh Ged. Buster needs a roadie.

The Waco Brothers – “Death of Country Music.” (Smiff’s countrybution)

Billy Connolly on Fly Fishing

The Dead Kennedys Come-A-Caroling – Wally

Buffalo Creek by Larry Keel & Natural Bridge – creeklover

Fishizzle is not the MTV Sports inspired fly fishing adventure-fest that you may have seen lately. It’s thin as plots go but it is there.
A former Alaska fishing guide now living in Seattle, Steve has a job at Wooligan’s and a girlfriend who he walks dogs and goes on ferry rides with. But he misses Alaska and wonders if having a 9 to 5 for the rest of his life is his calling. Though he never openly questions the relationship with his woman I have to think that somewhere in the back of his head Steve realizes that this chick is going to want to get married and have a baby some day. Or maybe I’m just reading too much into it.
To console himself Steve watches home videos that he shot over his 7 year stint in AK. Basically a very transparent way of injecting seven years (before editing) worth of fly fishing footage into the film. Which is totally okay because its, ALASKA! and there’s lots of giant rainbow trout and really big salmon. After a while the ‘plot’ just goes away and we’re left with lots of big fish, humor and bonus footage (BC Steelhead). Good stuff.

In the search for alternative fuels, crucial questions are,

“What potential form of latent energy do we still have in abundance?”

And, as icing on the cake, “is this resource actually increasing in supply?”

Well, when you apply those questions to human body fat, the answers are, “yes” and “hell yes!!” So we should have known it wouldn’t be long before some forward-thinker decided to put human fat to use, and Pete Bethune, Kiwi skipper of the human fat-powered boat, Earthrace, did just that. Hell, Pete even had liposuction performed on himself to contribute 10ml. of biofuel to the project. That’s the kind of commitment we like to see. Pete plans on taking Earthrace more than 24,000 miles around the globe, powered entirely off of fat-derived biofuel, with a net zero carbon footprint. Dogspeed, lad.

More here.

this is pure, unadulterated holding talent and art, right here fellas.

in this, our last installment of Mingo’s Girl Holding Stuff for the year (Mingo and his lady are temporarily leaving the country for locales unknown and will return after the 1st), Mingo’s Girl both proves she doesn’t even needs hands to hold stuff AND she’s not afraid of sacrificing danger for art.

Like we said, no hands, all art. Look and learn, Prosek. Look and learn what those sweater vests can’t earn you.:

Our good pal, H2daD2daW, shared this with the crew. It’s sage advice and timeless.

From Best’s Art of Angling, 1814 edition, page 93 & 94:

It’s about 36 minutes and worth the investment. The first three minutes is mostly Tri-Lamb. Give it a chance. Listen.

Reverend Chouinard speaks

Here it comes, the big Festivus gift-lobbing kablooey, and oh damn you forgot about Weird Cousin Fred the Fisherman. OK, well, just google up “Crap With Fish On It” and holy jumpin jeebus on a pogo stick, lookit all this stuff! How the hell are you supposed to decide? Well Buster’s here to help you separate the sweet from the daft. Presenting the third and final installment of Buster’s Yuletide Gift Guide ’07. Now settle down and stop horsing around.

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The Big Bobber Floating Cooler

($29.69 from Creative Sales Company) – 12-can cooler, looks like ye olde bait bobber, and it floats. Get it?

Brookwookie: I bet you could fit a whole midget in there.

Thee: Don’t call them midgets, bro. They get all irked and shit. I learned this on “Little People, Big World” which is a reality show on the TV. There’s these two midgets little people, see, and they have this farm and guess where it is… you got it… Oregon! No shit, Oregon! Go figure, huh? Anyway, the mom is pretty hot in a MILFy midget little person way and they have a buncha kids and shit and they all love one another even though some of the kids are normal sized and some are “little.” So… where was I…. Oh! I wonder if they have one of those bobber things?

Banknote: Does it grill sausages? THAT would be impressive.

Salty: Mmm sausages and beer, that makes for a good Christmas; this would make for a strong addition to a party float on the Little J.

Smiffhammer: Some poor stiff is gonna wash up in one of those off of Manhattan, guaranteed.

Wallace: A great gift for someone who transports donor organs.

Wook: Dear Little People, I apologize for calling you “midgets,” and I have no real evidence to suggest that you’d fit inside the bobber cooler. But if you can, please take a photo and send it to us. Merry Christmas, and I’m sure someday you’ll be the best dentist ever.

Fly Fishing Bathroom Scale

($69.95 from Sporty’s Men’s Collection) – Digital bathroom scale made of clear acrylic with hand tied flies molded into the platform. 330 lb. capacity, sorry huge giant fatties.

Salty: I don’t see a nymph on that thing, Bacon would buy it.

Wook: Methinks somebody’s got a surplus of Taiwanese flies.

Wallace: I invented a novelty/gift bathroom scale once. It looked just like this one except that it had a mirrored surface and an analog display. It didn’t sell very well, I guess nobody likes analog these days.

Banknote: Hey, can you weigh weed on that thing?

Thee: It’s those gotdam flies… they’re adding 10 pounds!

C-Love: Why does it always have to be traditional salmon flies? Meh.

Smiffhammer: Would be better if the hooks all protruded upwards.

Trout Cufflinks

($175.00 from CufflinksDepot.com. Yeah, really.) – Cuff bling for the natty troot-pimp-about-town.

Wook: We have it on good authority that Tom Chandler’s been really good this year, hoping for at least one pair of these. Several pair would be great, because you know these crazy “underground” subculture types and their weird piercings and such. Whatever, hope you enjoy them Tom, because you asked for it.

Salty: Those are some natty cuff links; they’d make all the boys at the SRC jealous, except Lefty, he’s got that pimped out belt buckle

Thee: Are those fucking things blinking? I hope not, because taking blinking trouts to a rave is like, very very 2002. That being said, James Prosek would wear these to the goddam figgy pudding dinner or whatever…

Wookipedia: The history of figgy pudding dates back to 17th century England. The ancestor of figgy pudding (and plum pudding) is a medieval spiced porridge known as Frumenty.

Salty: I question Thee’s commitment to sparkle motion.

Wook: But not to Frumenty.

Legends of the Lake Fishing Game

($19.95 from Amazon) – The latest introduction to the best-selling “Bass Fishin” series. 4 legendary fish to catch and conquer, and famous lakes around the country to fish. Hand-held electronic bass fishin game features realistic vibration feedback & authentic reel sounds.

Wook: Almost exactly unlike fishing, but you’re guaranteed to look like an idiot on the couch in your ratty robe and your new fuzzy slippers all knees-bent and hunched over with your tongue stickin out squinting at the thing and then spazzing out when it starts vibrating like a cheap Chinese robot prostitute. Add realism by getting your brother-in-law to stand over your shoulder and yell “set set SET SET AW SHIT YOU SUCK!” Good luck with that.

Thee: Not for sale to pre-teen gals. Sorry.

Smiffhammer: Good cover story for when you happen to leave your vibrator on the coffee table.

Salty: There’s no way to follow that ^.

Wook: Ha! No, really, it’s a fishing game! Look, you give it a yank like that and BZZZZZT. See? What?!

Rainbow Trout Salt & Pepper Shakers

($15.21 from Bellfishing.com) – The perfect addition for any collector! Tail of fish is the handle for shaking. Made of a new, more durable stoneware. Dishwasher safe.

Banknote: Hey, can you smoke weed with those?

Salty: You took woodshop, you can smoke weed out of anything.

Thee: Looks like they have ebola or something.

Wook: These things make me uneasy, I think because I’m pretty sure that all hatchery trout will someday look exactly like this. You know, stackable for easy storage and transport. And dishwasher-safe.

Wallace: With five years of high school woodshop under my belt I can confidently tell you that, yes, you can smoke weed with those.

C-Love: For the flyfisherman in your life that has, well almost everything.

Wook: I’m still unclear on what exactly is supposed to motivate me to grab a fish by the tail and shake it over my dinner plate.

Hand Carved Oak Toilet Seat With A Trout On It

($199.95 from The Rogue Angler) – Solid oak with brass fittings, hand carved and painted, for most round or oval toilets. Largemouth bass or sailfish models also available.

Wook: First the TP holder, now this fresh hell. YAY! MORE POTTY JOKES!

Salty: My shitter would be complete with this and the reel TP dispenser, sign me up.

Banknote: Is this some kind of sneaky trick to get me to put the seat down?

Thee: I have a new idea for a laptop design…

Wallace:I hope there’s a fish on the other side cuz nobody around here ever closes the lid.

Fish Mailboxes

(Prices Vary by Species from Michel Devost in Quebec Canada) – It’s a mailbox that looks like a fish.

Thee: Remember when you were a kid driving around in Jimmy Pryzinski’s Nova all hopped up on Labatt’s, Jim Beam and cheap mexican brickweed? Anyway, ya get outta town on some hick road and there they were, lined up and waiting — a buncha mailboxes just begging you to smash the shit out of them as you flew by hanging out the window with a 34 inch aluminum baseball bat. Think how much more fun that would be with one of these as your target. You freaking kids don’t know how lucky you got it.

C-Love: What Thee said. We had to hit hollow logs and bricked-in mailboxes.

Banknote: Or, as the case may be, seeing as how these things are made “up there,” a bladeless, heavily taped Koho shaft.

Wook: It would be funny if when the mailman opened it up a big wet gob of worms shot out of it with a mighty PHOOT sound.

Salty: The bass one should shoot dead baby ducks and mice at passers-by.

2008 Women In Waders Calendar

($12.95 from WomenInWaders.com) – Pretty much what you’d expect.

Smiffhammer: The way these calendars objectify fish is just, well… wrong.

Salty: Didn’t we already cover women in waders? Plus it’s obvious that this one doesn’t practice C&R- I mean look at the gill death grip she has. Although if she’s keeping it, it probably means she can cook, which is kinda rare in a woman that spendy and flash, assuming the Women in Waders folks are getting the best out of the strip mall modeling agency talent. Unless they’re combing “Beaver Hunt,” those gals can cook and don’t mind getting their hands dirty.

Wook: It’s the “in waders” part that mystifies me, I guess. Do they also make a “Women In Bowling Shoes” calendar? How about “Women In Bike Helmets”? It’s hard to really complain though, because this is just the sort of thinking that, taken to the far reaches of slack, ultimately brings us things like the Weed Bikini. I guess all this really proves is that geeks of all stripes are kinda sad, but they probably have disposable income, which is good because they’ll buy almost anything.

Banknote: Dudes, I totally know that hole, er, uh, pool…. Yeah, anyway, judging by the ice fall, I’d say that’s a winter fish and she’s damn cold in them thar hipboots.

Salty: Women in Waders uses the finest models from the strip mall talent agency, although I see no evidence of her being cold.

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OK scamps, no more or you’ll get a stomach ache and barf. We hope this has all been helpful, or at least mildly cathartic, and maybe has earned us a little Santa cred so we’ll get the G.I. Joe with Kung Fu Grip this year. Hopefully in the ’08 edition we’ll be able to heap juvenile potty scorn on the Buster Wants To Fish t-shirt. Buster wishes you merriment all ’round. Hey c’mon, stop weeping. We know you appreciate it.

Hey shoppers, time is short and nothing poops up the holidays like the stink of desperation. Check out Part 1 here, and Part 2 here. Buster’s got you covered.

“Skipping out of work, or school, to go fishing is a time-honored tradition in America going back to Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn. But in today’s fast-paced world of computers, Blackberry’s, cell phones and other gadgets to keep you tethered to the office, the idea of sneaking off for a couple of hours to go fly fishing under the nose of the Boss Man seems highly improbable. The idea of doing it in the big city, with high-end and low-end retailers as your backdrop, tourists and commuters as your companions, and a muddy canal as your destination, pushes the boundaries of probability into the realm of the absurd. But in some of us, the addiction burns so bright and hot that the conventions of the fly fishing tradition in the modern day workplace be damned…”

Keeping the dream alive, urban style, from the Offbeat Angler: