Hey Arizona, It’s Been Fun
Posted in let's get it on on March 30th, 2011 by SaltyBut I gots to go
Heading back to Florida at the end of the month. See ya
Archive for March, 2011
wherein we prompt you to give yr dog a kick in the ass
Posted in All up in it, Bones!, BWTF Seal Of Approval, Cast and Blast, cheap coyote tricks, Dead Animal Meals, Doesn't taste like chicken, dogs, Eat This Jim Harrison, fill that freezer, fun gals, Great White Hunter, Lazy Ass YouTube Posting, something for the smart kids, The Scattergun Chronicles, You Won't Find This Shit On The Fly Fishing Rabbi on March 21st, 2011 by theeoff the couch, fatass!
Buster’s Grump Juice Enhancement Vessel
Posted in Aboogadaboogada, Absolute Horseshit, Accoutrements Collectibles And Antiquities, Ask Izaak, Brews, don't you ever wash that thing?, Utterly Ridiculous on March 15th, 2011 by WookDrink coffee from this thing and nobody but you will know WTF, and you’ll be forced to explain again and again why your mug features a sketchy picture of Grampy in a bib wearing shades, and who the hell is Buster, and that it’s a fishing thing, yes really, well mostly kinda, all of which will of course become supremely tiresome and annoying, especially considering the price you paid for the weird-ass mug, which will make you even more surly, which is the perfect frame of mind for coffee.
See? We think of you. You’re welcome.
The Waiting is the Hardest Part
Posted in Anticipation, Blind faith, clearing out the memory card, Fish Local, soul, time is subjective on March 14th, 2011 by G_Smolt“It won’t be long now. The robins are back, the jays are back, hell, even the little tweetybirds are flyin’ around my place. The snow is gonna melt soon, then it’s game on…”
The waiting game is never easy to play, but when it drags on for nearly 6 months like it does here in Northern SouthEast, it gets downright unbearable. As it turns out, there IS a limit to the number of flies a fella can tie in anticipation for an upcoming season.
“S’posed to rain next week – that’ll get ‘em moving…yeah, I know it isn’t May yet, but there’s bound to be a few fish off of Lucky Creek, just waitin’ for a bump.”
The lies we tell ourselves as we wait get more and more complex as the season of the cold drags on, forming a web of self-deceit in which we cloak ourselves against the ugly truth – we won’t be fishing anytime soon unless we go someplace warmer. This happens occasionally, but is a costly relief valve. The relief and soul-feeding comes at a high monetary price, but by mid-February it is worth every single penny.
“Last high water did some interesting stuff to the upper section of that flow. You see the new tree? Hope breakup doesn’t wash that one away…”
Anticipation is equal parts pleasure and anxiety, according to pointy-headed folks that describe these things for a living. The pleasure side of the equation has always been easy to see. The anxiety side is slow to reveal itself, but as the season draws closer, a fella begins to understand the mixture of elation, dread, fear, and hope that make up the darker side of anticipation.
“Had my eye on that flow for a looong time. All the classic signs are there, and with the southern exposure, there is gonna be water sooner than the other one – we need to hit that one this year.”
The truth of the matter is we wait in the cold and dark for a season that lasts roughly 3 weeks, a month if we are lucky. We spend 24 crazy days, driving and flying and boating all over the landscape in search of our spring dance partners, then we spend 340 days waiting for it to happen again. The more seasons you do this, the more you realize the source of your anxiety – the closer the season is, then the sooner it will be over.
“Gonna be a good one. Good ocean temps for a few years, favorable offshore winds, good parent year…all signs point to go for this one, man.”
And so we plan and scheme, hash and rehash. As the season gets closer and the anticipation builds, a sense of serene calm overtakes you. You understand completely the fact that once the dance starts, you have a window of approximately 600 hours to get your freak on with the favored fish. When the dust settles and the final accounting of the season begins, you will have another 340 days to replay you and your buddies’ successes as well as your failures, but for now, you have 24 days to look forward to.
T-minus 44 days. Can’t wait, fisha.
Count No Stream Sacred ’til All The Color Is Up From The Ground
Posted in Absolute Horseshit, All that is way fucking wrong on March 5th, 2011 by WallyRock Creek is under attack by the same sort of internationalist cocksuckers that have no reserve when it comes to bending over the very landscape for a quick fuck and a buck in places like Bristol Bay, Chetco River and so on. You needn’t worry about the buck, pilgrim.
And yes, you are correct to assume that the cocksuckers have the bond by now.
Spread it Far and Wide
Posted in A Retort, BWTF Seal Of Approval, no, Salmon are Priceless on March 3rd, 2011 by Salty
Hey Earl, What is Best in Life?
Posted in Aboogadaboogada, arriving in style, boognish, can't make this shit up, Dawn Patrol, Dead Animal Meals, DOOSHTASTIC!, Fodder, Great White Hunter, Holy Ghey!, Politics, Sad Clowns, Smartassery, sticking it to the man, Stuffing Removal, uppity mountain hippy extravaganza, Utterly Ridiculous on March 2nd, 2011 by WookBig props for laughs to Montana Governor Brian Schweitzer today. Like in many other states, Montana’s tea-drunk conservo-muppets have been flailing around introducing tough-guy bills like SB-112 – “An Act Providing that a Hand-Thrown Spear Must be Considered a Lawful Means of Hunting.” AW YEAH OOGA BOOGA!
This morning on the radio Governor Schweitzer said that he’ll use an “amendatory veto” on it, which will send it back to the Montana State Houses with the provision that spear hunting must only be performed while wearing a small blaze orange loincloth (with maximum size requirements, you know, for the ladies), and nothing else. The Governor seemed anxious to put this matter behind him so that he could move on to another of their stack of Frodo-fantasy bills about seceding from the United States or something. Anyway, KILLIN STUFF CONAN-STYLE IN MONTANA!
