Not that it would have mattered much, but the above cooked up splendidly in olive oil and butter with fennel, garlic, tomato, cream and freshly grated parmesan over noodles. Salt and pepper to taste, bitches.
from Ardy in Penns Creek
Ahhh, the life of a successful flyfishingphotojournalist, on the road and at the peak of his game. Fans awaiting you in every new town, everyone wants to take you fishing, pick up your bar tab, hotties literally throwing themselves at your highly-literate feet…and, well, occasionally you wake up in a pink room full of stuffed animals wondering how you got there. But that’s just the way life on the literary edge is lived, man, and most will only dream of it.
But then sometimes, on those rare occasions, a book tour takes on a twisted life of its own, making an abrupt left at an unmarked dirt road in the middle of that metaphorical cornfield that stretches to the horizon, hoping you’re going the right way, as shadows lengthen and darkness descends. It enters another, slightly creepy dimension, maybe even a little bit mystical, in that way that makes you look over your shoulder and your short and curlies stand on end. Just as you’ve begun to struggle with your meteoric rise into that rarified air reserved for fly fishing’s elite superstars, still trying desperately to maintain an air of humility (that your friends deny you ever truly had), the fates throw you a curve ball designed to test the very core of your very human-ness, temping you into believing not only in your own immortality, but your downright unquestionable divinity.
We’re talking, of course, about a devoted fan discovering your likeness on a common, everyday food item:
Gaper, dear brother, wherever you are on that double-line destiny with the next hamlet of adoring fans, we beg you to maintain some sense of healthy skepticism and watch your back. And check in a little more frequently, cuz we’ve got a weird feeling about this. At least until the lab results are back…
And you know you’re already batting a 91% luscious status, fella, but that’s still a B+. Imagine achieving uber status. You’d be like Elvis before he discovered butter.
Anyway, dig the 2009 Native Fish Society tee celebrating the Sandy River’s now-free flowing status running right down your mother-scratchin’ backbone so folks know you do, in fact, have a spine that stands for something. They’ll be available en masse at the 2009 Sandy River Spey Clave on May 15th-17th at Oxbow Park just east of Portland, Orygun.
Word has it the shirts are a limited edition deal; only 150 men’s sizes will be available and for the first time ever, around 25 shirts specifically cut for women so they don’t have to look like men. They’re done on fitted, organic ringspun cotton tees with a quality screenprint job and designed by Buster’s own Banknote at Laundry Studio and some fool from Meat is Good for You, Inc.
They will sell for $25 each, with every single cent of the proceeds going the NFS. Their goal is to sell out at the Clave, but those who cannot attend and would still like a shirt can contact Fran Taylor at fran@molalla.net, which might be a good idea because it’s rumored they’re going fast.
Oh yes, these babies will love you long time and give you happy ending:
Pile on! No twisting yr cleats, we’re all fiends here.
