Archive for January, 2010
“Laser Beams”
Posted in bacon!, Blogroll, clearing out the memory card, Laser Awesomnality, Spey on January 28th, 2010 by banknoteTalk of lasers over at Apocalypse Steelhead reminded me of a shot from a warm, first-week-of-June afternoon. Check out bacon, keeping the duckies honest and on the far bank.
I’m glad there’s still plenty of winter left before spring.
“Wolves, oh Wolves…”
Posted in corporate rock still sucks, Lazy Ass YouTube Posting, Night Ops, The Politics of Campfire Music Selection, uppity mountain hippy extravaganza on January 24th, 2010 by Wally
Boat: A hole in the water you throw money and time into
Posted in Blogroll, BWTF Seal Of Approval, Flotsam, Your Custom Drifter on January 21st, 2010 by SaltyJust kidding with the title, but one of the Stansberry brothers One Mule Team is still cranking away and restoring his bartender. Too cool of a project.
Super Skunktastic
Posted in beatdown, don't you ever wash that thing?, Fishin Dogs, Gone fishin', Good Fishing Is Where You're At, The Globetrotting Angler, Utterly Ridiculous, Why do we make this so complicated? on January 20th, 2010 by GaperI haven’t landed a fish since November.
I remember it well: a lanky, hatchery hen that unleashed the fury (Mitch!!!!) on my slowly probing winter-run swinger. It was hastily constructed in a moving vehicle saturated with liquor but the angry inland steelfaces didn’t seem to mind.
Since then, there have been a few nips at the tail of slowly undulating streamers, a thrown hook or two, one monster head shake that I’m sure was the brown trout I missed all fall, a foot long chrome propeller twirling in the current as I hauled him upstream pinned to a five inch fly; he didn’t make it to hand. But really, there have been no fish caught since early November.
I went home for a couple tropical weeks to visit the family and the warmth of sun. It’s taken about three years of recon and connections to people much more knowledgable than myself, but I’ve finally figured out where to chase giant tailing bonefish on flats not five miles from the house where I grew up. So I spent quite a few sunrises here:
Trying to lead neurotic eight pounders far enough not to spook while they knife, spectre-like, through the pond-still surface. In retrospect, I probably should have worn different shorts. Murphy was hanging out watching the whole thing unfold and laughing his ass off. At one point, I had a fish in the ten pound class working his way right to left about 50 feet away, perfectly on line with my lightly dropped shrimp pattern. I led him by 20 feet and waited, he stayed the course. When he was at ten feet, my knees literally began to shake a little. An eagle ray appeared at my feet, gliding majestically accross the flat and I thought: “how picturesque and perfect”. He saw my pale, hairy legs and had a legitimate response: he immediately bailed in disgust. He made a beeline directly toward my unaware, tailing trophy and spooked the shit out of it. Stupid majestic sea creature, I hear ray skin makes great wallets. I spooked fish with my tippit knots, I spooked them with what I thought were perfectly legitimate light casts, I even damn near peed on one while depostiting rented coffee on a spindly mangrove. What I did not do, in two weeks of trying, was catch one. I lightly pricked two but never got the singing reel adrenaline shot.
I returned to Montana and found spring-like weather, so I figured: “What the hell, I can at least nymph the shit out of helpless pods of Madison trout piled into low-water buckets”. After I blanked on the third hole, my confidence began to waver. I went to one final go-to spot on the way home, certain that I would cleanse myself of the thick metaphorical funk that had followed me for so long. After many dozen casts, and several fly changes, I felt it, the throbbing buck of a frightened trout, he rolled on the surface and I saw a perfectly respectable 18 inch rainbow. I thought: “Even if I did have to resort to bobber fishing, it was worth it, my skunk is finally…oh son of a bitch!”. The line was limp, the fish hugging the bottom and telling his buddies: “don’t eat that shit man, it’s totally NOT worth it”. I turned around to make a sarcastic comment to the dog, just in time to discover her rolling her neck and shoulders against a particular spot at the edge of the shelf-ice.
“No, no , no, Lehua get out of there!”
She actually found a dead, half-rotten, half-frozen skunk protruding slightly from the muck on the bank of the river and covered herself in it.
She was pretty proud of the symbolic statement she managed to make
The ride home necessitated all windows down despite the falling temperatures and the residual wetness from my leaky waders. The air was permeated, not with metaphor but the actual essence of dead, rotting, skunk.
Thinking with yr Noggin
Posted in Basss!, Buster Saving You Money Everyday, BWTF Seal Of Approval, Corporate Fly Fishing Still Sucks, Fly Candy, Git, River's Blown, Sick Point Sick on the Sickter Scale, sticking it to the man, Thee Thrifty Angler, uppity mountain hippy extravaganza, Us vs. Them, Utterly Ridiculous, View from your bench on January 19th, 2010 by creekloverSucka MC’s,
Check out the $3.76 worth of saltwater/bass fly tying material I purchased from the Christmas clearance rack of my local home-improvement-do-it-yourself-and-get-busy mega store. Tis the season and git to tying.
Places
Posted in Cast and Blast, clearing out the memory card, fill that freezer, Great White Hunter, hook & effin bullet, I Got Yer Hotspot Right Here, open thread motherfuckers! on January 17th, 2010 by creeklover
The Dollhouse, which actually used to be an actual doll house.
We all have special names for our favorite spots. It’s just what we do….Whether it’s a favorite pool or run on a river or a favorite greenfield where you still wait on that 11-point you saw last summer. And it just sounds better when you’re retelling a story to use a special name. Easier to remember also. Some favorite places of mine:
Long Shot/Big Sandy/Turtleback/Back40/Blue Hole/Snakepit/Shopping Mall/Double Stump/Cooterville/Car Line/Little Hole/Cabbage Patch
Let’s hear some of yours…..
so badass in so many ways
Posted in Dead Animal Meals, Eat This Jim Harrison, Great White Hunter, Know from where your dinner comes, Laser Awesomnality, Near Death In Real Life, Night Ops, River's Blown, Sick Point Sick on the Sickter Scale on January 15th, 2010 by thee
Would you trust your sister with this man?
Posted in Laser Awesomnality, Real Heroes of Fly Fishing on January 14th, 2010 by bacon_to_fryPiscatorial Predator/Kanektok Spiritual Leader/Sod Layer THE Elaminator sluts out in the latest FFJ* ad in trade for more brown liquor and an extra set of night vision goggles.
Prolly your sister’s never been to third base. Yet, ’cause Elam rocks the dirty, dirty night prowl, that scamp, and he plays himself some wicked hardball. He’ll make a fine brother-in-law.
*We wholeheartedly endorse the FFJ’s awesomenality in trade for more whisky. thanks guys. anything else you need us to say? damn, this blog thing’s really working out.
Time Is Subjective
Posted in Basss!, beatdown, who eats that? on January 13th, 2010 by Wally
The bass are content to inhale whatever leech or snail or larva locates itself within range. Thusly they feed, so often as to be uneventful. Such fish cannot be bothered to rise so far as the surface, not even for a morsel as large and succulent as a frog or a woefully rendered imitation thereof. The disposition of this fish does not lend itself to game.
Fishing is slow.
1st in ’10
Posted in Good Fishing Is Where You're At, I Got Yer Hotspot Right Here, Laser Awesomnality, Nevermind, Spey on January 11th, 2010 by banknote
Twenty-ten wild hen! And yes, she was a screamer.
Your Holiday Beaver News
Posted in Absolute Horseshit, admit it -- it sucks, All that is way fucking wrong, AWWW! It hurts my eyes, Beaver Hunt, fuck you you fucking fucks, Holy Crap!, Holy Ghey!, In Depth Beaver Analysis, Photoshoppery on January 4th, 2010 by SaltyNominated for an Award from the Nature Conservancy (Fuck those assholes and their access policie$)
November 20, 2009
Mr. Donald L. Beaver, Jr.Chief Executive OfficerSpring Ridge Club, LLC
Dear Mr. Beaver,
Congratulations! Spring Ridge Club was selected by an independent panel of judges as a finalist in the Investing in Nature program in the Ecotourism category.
Selecting award finalists was a difficult task for our blue-ribbon panel of judges. It is an honor of which to be proud. There was a robust field of nominees from across
Sincerely,
Teresa Howell Saxton
Donor Relations Manager
And from the newsletter, Cathy Beck on a private Lake Erie trib.
Epol fixed it though:
Merry Christmas.