When your previous venture is tarred and feathered unmercilessly, change the name and hope no one notices. Way to go, Donny!!!!!!!

“These waters, now totaling over 30 miles, are dotted across central Pennsylvania’s undulating farmland from the Delaware Water Gap to just west of the Ohio border. Mr. Beaver’s venture, Spring Ridge Club, which was brought to fruition with the help of a few Founding Members, received wide acclaim and gained momentum quickly.”

Somehow, I really doubt that “acclaim” part.

“Not only does a membership to HomeWaters Club let you cherish time away with the most important people in your life, but it also allows you to pass on the privileges of membership to your children, who can pay it forward to their children.

There are few experiences in life that transcend generations and take root as traditions—HomeWaters Club offers the chance to Create a Legacy.”

Only if your legacy consists of being a fuckstick.

Membership to the HomeWaters Club is not something decided on a whim, or overnight. It is a commitment to protect the future of fly fishing for our grandchildren and their children. It is a commitment to devote quality time to our families and find time in solitude for ourselves. And, most importantly, it is a commitment to help preserve our precious waters so that nature’s gifts will continue to flow freely.

And make a lot of money illegally closing off a public resource.

From the FAQ

6. What about plans for the future? Will HomeWaters be expanding?
In 2001, the club began with two miles and six members. Seven years later, we now have over 75 miles and 180 members. During the next decade, HomeWaters will explore expansion options into the Shenandoah Valley, the western Carolinas, southwest Colorado, the Ozarks, Catskills, Jackson Hole, Park City, northern California and Bend, Oregon.

At least now we know where to be on the look out and who should stock up on bolt cutters and chains.

And finally, found comedy!

10. Will I catch fish?
Absolutely. No “skunk” days. As close to a sure thing as you can get.

Certain seasons blur from one to the next in a lazy smear of shifting hues, tilting shadows and shrinking mercury. Others proclaim ordainment in a burst through the door and slide across the floor that startles sensibilities and pierces the soul. These latter times cannot be forgotten.

Like days through the years, most fish bleed into the next, but we’ll not forget the one we’ll never best; that dreadful, though much enshrined, fish of a lifetime. Nor the dazed and giddy evenings’ tallies in camp, when everyone’s using both hands, attempting recollection for the ledger, to recount their runs and hits and errors. Time when a collective stepping outside of the moment is only natural and forgiven for the sake of realizing this really may be about as good as it ever gets. Remember the fall of 2009, fellas?… Of course we do, we’re in it and we remember it, already.

The equinox passed somewhat short on notice, but the 24th was not to be ignored. Mugs followed me outside in the morning, lowered his head, leaned, wobbled, and collapsed on the porch. In twelve hours, and bereft of any certainty beyond suffering, I faced the decision every dog person dreads.

I watched the white push down the tube. I twirled a finger through the wispy scruff of his ear. I saw the final ebb of his breath, and then stillness.

He was eleven, same as his grandfather and great grandfather, family dogs growing up. I knew this going into it. All my dogs go to eleven.

We live and carry these days and their changes as treasure. They make living sweeter; not for the way we felt within them, but for the wonder they enchant us with now; at what’s yet to be fulfilled, at all else we’ve yet to savor, and at all that’s left to realize in order even to be lost.

So a collective Thank You and a collected farewell, destined but undesigned, in flesh but not in essence, to every thing beyond reprise.

And Mugs, you were the best damn anything I ever knew.

Just Go Here

This one comes like a speeding shell from the WTF howitzer. Seems like the flacks for the pebble mine are encouraging their supporters dupes to boycott 13 Seattle restaurants who are supporting an anti-pebble mine/Trout Unlimited “Savor Salmon” campaign. The Trout Unlimited campaign is timed to coincide with Seattle’s Pacific Marine Expo 2009, the largest commercial marine trade show on the West Coast.

The Seattle-based food blog cornichon is all over this issue like (sorry) white on rice:

Meantime, Seth Caswell of Emmer & Rye and the Seattle Chefs Collaborative, responded directly to Ms. Phillips, which addresses the “unknown shape of the mine” issue. The gist of his message:

“Ms Phillips, do not think that because I am concerned for the responsible protection of the incredible oceanic resources of Bristol Bay that I do not see the value in building mines and extracting materials that can help better transform our lives in a myriad of ways. Hospital equipment, faster computers, and better communication technology not to mention the revenue to the state and improved infrastructure of Bristol Bay are just a few of the areas that can benefit from the addition of the natural resources that will be found in the proposed Pebble Mine. But just as you claim that I and fellow Seattle chefs are getting caught up in the wrong fight, I want to once again remind you that at this time, all we are asking is for our customers to please eat Alaskan salmon, especially those caught in Bristol Bay. The potential economic upsurge could have benefits that ultimately will sway the votes of the Alaskans who will decide in the coming years whether or not to permit the Pebble Mine. We are asking the restaurant diners of Seattle to cast their vote now, to vote with their forks. Please ask your friends and family to refrain from boycotting our restaurants. Who else is going to buy all of that great Alaskan fish?”

They’re digging up Shackleton’s Whisky!!

Simon Grahm, over at Pike Fly Fishing in Finland, passed this link along to some of his pikre fly creations. Good stuff

This deserves some serious experimentation and research.

Attention! Thanks to the Hickmanimal and sponsors Oregon Sierra Club, Native Fish Society and Kaufmann Streamborn, Portlandfibians get a chance to step out of the rain and soak in the glow of Jahtrout Productions’ latest film:

From the website:
“This film is about the return of the Sockeye and the different groups that depend on them. From the commercial fisherman who cull this valuable resource at the river’s mouth, to the First Nations’ identity that is intertwined with the Salmon they have taken along the Skeena’s banks for thousands of years, and finally, the outfitters up river who have found the value of the resource in tourism and sport fishing….

As these three groups fight for their portion of the resource might they miss the bigger picture? While fighting for their respective ‘piece of the pie’, will the larger battle of conservation and preservation, that drives all these groups, lose out to big business and modernization? If it’s people or fish, people historically win out. Or, will these groups find interesting and dynamic ways to solve their differences and make the Skeena Drainage a global symbol of people finally recognizing the value of pristine wilderness and the importance of preservation?”

So bring your ten-spot and your party mug (cuz that’s the way we know you roll, hippy) and learn something about what it might take to save the salmon, the people and the culture immersed in some of the greatest rivers you and I may or may not ever fish, but about which we can still dream sweet dreams.

The film makers will be present for a Q & A after the film.

$10 admission, a portion goes towards Native Fish Society

Tuesday, Nov 10th @ 6:30pm

Sierra Club 1821 SE Ankeny St, PDX, 97214

And I’m serious about the beer. It’s free. Snacks too, but ima stick with the beer.

Busterites -

Take a second to head over to Moldy Chum and answer a few questions for a poll on the importance of wild steelhead: www.moldychum.com/surveys.

“We’d like to find out just how important the experience of catching a wild steelhead is to the recreational angler in Washington,” said Rob Masonis, vice president of Western Conservation for Trout Unlimited, the nation’s leading advocacy group for coldwater fisheries conservation. TU has thousands of members in Washington state, and is interested in seeing where its members, and the angling community as a whole, stand on this important issue. “From a conservation standpoint, we worry that hatchery fish are diluting wild stocks and reducing the hearty nature of steelhead in the Northwest. But we recognize the overall importance of steelhead to the recreational angler. I guess it boils down to a simple question: would you rather catch a wild fish or a hatchery fish?” 

The data, non-scientific though it may be, will be provided to the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife.

The final couple of work days before a fishing trip are probably best used as an exercise in patience, something fisherfolk are supposed to have in voluminous reserve, but for me they’re mostly spent almost telling coworkers to go piss up a rope. My brain checked out a few days ago, so making time pass by being productive, while laudable and maybe even expected, is a joke. So instead I’m left searching for alternatives, like:

• Chew off own face (not arms, I’ll be needing those)
• Create ridiculous new fly designs, give them names like “spleen venter” and “jeebus fucking fuck”
• Stand outside cafeteria window, grease ferrules while performing rod-section-up-the-nose trick

• Piss up a rope
• Write self-evaluation, give self high marks for “not murdering you all in your sleep”
• Tie on big pyramid sinker, practice double-hauling at lunchtime joggers
• Get head start on three-days-in-wool-and-waders body funk, offer hugs to middle management
• Attend status meeting, assign new names to coworkers like “Bait Bucket Joe,” “Pete the Pusillanimous Pinner” and “U. Barking Idiot”
• Stabby-type foul-mouthed blog posts, try to make keys fly off
• Take steroids, get huge, bend time and space

Any and all further suggestions are welcome in the comments. Well, they technically won’t be welcome until next week, but you get the idea.

Prolly could be wading through the crowds of bobbercator fishermen and wailing on hatchery mutants out east Orygun way through December, but the summer dryfly season’s coming to a close on the rivers we choose to hide out on elsewhere and its time to head into the basement and begin winter steelhead preparations. Man’s always gotta do one last trip and thank the river for her time, despite some pretty shitty reports and even worse weather both nights. Been one helluva skater summer, so I guess closure comes a little easier this year.

Props to the Banknote for laying wood into a 15+lb, all-native, all-uber badass double striper three casts from the summer season’s end. You done did us proud with that tailout heavyweight, fella.