If you happen to have a yen, a hankerin’, even a slight urge to go fish the Piscivorous Playground that is Alaska this coming season, take a look at this.

When you book a trip buy March 10th with the fine folks at Alaska FlyOut for a stay at one of the lodges pictured above , they will donate  5% of the package price to the Save Bristol Bay campaign.

Go ahead, do it.

You know you want to.

Press release HERE, and for more info visit Alaska FlyOut.

DEP investigates spill at gas well site in Washington Co.

“…the spilled condensate was discovered last Thursday by a township employee inspecting a gas pipeline facility nearby. The spill had run into Bigger Run Creek, a tributary of Raccoon Creek. He had no information about whether fish or aquatic life were killed, but cleanup crews placed absorbent material in the creek on Friday.”

Needed a couple big boxes for the boat/bag and lack of employment last year hasn’t made it real conducive to dropping coin on new gear right now. Had a couple old power tool boxes laying around and it dawned on me one night in the garage over a couple beers. A trip to the craft store and $10 later I had enough foam and glue for two boxes. They ain’t the perttiest, but they serve a purpose. Kinda like your sister.

Figured on seeing Thai hookers in the Tabernacle fore I’d see yonder video of a living breathing mastadon.

Big Ups to the SacTown Posse and the Truckee RiffRaff Association for the good times last week. Barring liver-replacement therapy and/or a sudden, inexplicable aversion to whoop-ass good sushi and company, I will be down for the Show next year.

Things we should probably remember for next year:

If you meet a girl with a large bird tattoo, don’t ask her why she decided to get a big cock on her back.

Fro’s is too damn expensive for people in the fly fishing industry, but staying away from food that good is tough.

Regardless of your intent, “Golden Water” is not a phrase to be used in the presence of hot waitresses unless you feel the need to be known among the waitstaff as “the guy with the pee thing”.

No more than 3 tall bastards in a drinking circle.

If you get 2am taco debris all over your iPhone while Siri is giving you directions, simple 5 minute drives can and will turn into 40-minute, 5-freeway clown-car rodeos.

Karma has a way of catching up with lowholers – wait until they fall in before yelling at them.

Just because April was at that one bar last year doesn’t necessarily mean there will be hot chicks there this year.

Using awkward hand signals while vaguely referencing obscure fishing practices is not a good idea in the company of smartass fishing guides.

Thanks to JerkBait and the Loose Cannon for lettin’ me ride shotgun all week, and if I ever find my phone, I’ll make sure to get that video of the Hooters chick riding the “Barstool Bull” into your sweaty hands.

I’ve cut back on my own tracks. I haven’t done that before, moving back to place I left previously. Last spring I moved back to Florida and in so many other ways, I started right back where I was a few years ago. I came back for a job and a future I thought I could predict. I have the job, but the future, as it will, has changed from what I thought it would be. My wife and I split up and I’m moving out. I’m rebuilding a life from the bottom up again and wondering what I’m doing half the time. Eight years ago, I was in the exact same spot, and there are times where I lay awake and wonder how I got here again. I have some great friends, one in particular, who has been there for me through this whole experience. There are times where I don’t know how I’ll ever say thank you in a way that conveys the depth of that appreciation. That particular friend is now going through her own hard time. I’ve tried to be there for her and tried to offer the same support and help that she has offered me. In the end that is all we can do for each other. Be there with a hand and a kind word and an open ear. Sometimes I feel like I am stumbling around, not sure of what I’m doing. I’m about to turn 35 years old, and I don’t know anything more than when I was 5 years old.

Hey Front Range – maybe you should have wondered where the water was going to come from before you approved all the rampant development of the last couple decades? Just sayin’…

Kirk Deeter of Fly Talk makes a few fly fishing predictions for the coming year. Most of them are reasonable enough and will probably come to fruition but it’s #3 that catches my attention.

Fly fishing will see successful competitions happen that will actually promote the sport. Only they won’t revolve around trout. (We tried, but it’s hard to find a fair and legitimate format; one-flies are for fun). And they won’t revolve around bass. (That market is already cornered, and the bass people don’t want us). It’s going to revolve around carp fishing with flies. Just you watch.

I admit that I like this idea. For years now the wife has been bugging me to get a second job and being a pro carp angler on “The Tour” sounds good to me.

What if?

Lots of sites going dark today, WordPress included, but we figured since it was already a bit dim (and musty) around here anyway, we’d just post this.

(btw, image totally ganked from somebody on the intarwbz without permission)

And this just for clicks.

Hi no time here’s your card k merry stuffis ok bye.

…are they gone?

While hatchery steelhead may be the new Zebra Mussel, there is no denying the fact that they are tasty morsels from the sea. Scourge or no, they go well with just a shake of salt and pepper, splashed with the slightest amount of Olive Oil.

This, of course is the end game – before all of this, you will have played your fish with speed so as to not build up any bitter lactic acid (or to release it mostly free of those same acids, be it a wild fish), and landed it in expedient fashion. Regardless of the fact that it is seen by some as the devilspawn and a plague upon Northwest watersheds, dispatch it with efficiency, dignity, and respect, preferably using the time-tested “driftwood shampoo” method. When your fish has been rendered inert, remember to pop at least one gill arch to bleed it out…sweetens the meat, you understand. Keep it in a cool, moist condition, free from the damaging effects of wind, sun, and spilled drinks.

Once back in your domicile, allow the fish to lie in state in your fridge for 24 hours – the folks who eat fish straight out of the sea and claim it is better are unwashed heathen, and not to be trusted. Once it has gone through rigor mortis and has subsequently slacked out, reduce it to its component parts. If you do not know how to achieve the beauty that is the boneless fillet, allow our friends over at AFFG to show you how.

Introduce your steelhead to its new friends – olive oil, salt, and pepper. To put any more on it is to dilute the taste of years in the ocean, to cover up the nuances that make it what it is. After a brief stint on foil over the medium-hot flame of your grill, bring your fillet in and pair it with a good rosé, accompanied by a light mango salsa.

The next time you go fishing, do yourself and some Wild Steelhead a favor -  kill a hatchery steelhead.

Silver and Gold from Yukon Goes Fishing on Vimeo.

Combining the two things I like most; Montana and a mean techno beat.

Somewhere in Texas, on a roadkill-spattered North-South state highway, there is a sign. It is a simple, modest sign, warped, whitewashed and carefully lettered with one word near and dear to my heart and an accompanying arrow pointing vaguely to the Southwest.

Just past this sign is a small camper with an awning, 2 tables, and another sign. The words on this sign are familiar as words, but as concepts they are far-ranging and can hold satisfaction or stark misery depending upon the disposition, aspirations, and general hygiene of the person or persons on the business end of the sign.

If a quick glance was all that was needed to determine the outcome, there isn’t much of a chance that this particular trailer would have much of a dog in the hunt. However, the combination of curiosity and hunger is often enough to overlook the decor and outward appearance that would otherwise lend itself well to the abattoir of your everyday teenage brain surgeon.

The ordinary cliché of  “a diamond in the rough” is an unfortunate choice of metaphor, but for a beat-down taco trailer on the outskirts of a burnt-up town, I think it will do nicely.

If you happen to be on a roadkill-spattered North-South state highway in the middle of Texas and see this sign, do yourself a favor and stop. Ask the nice man for a Taco al Pastor with everything, and while you are at it, get a bottle of Mexican coke with all its cane-sugary goodness.

You will not be disappointed.

A must visit for anyone who has read any works of Cormac McCarthy:

http://yelpingwithcormac.tumblr.com/

“The man laid there in the village square for three days and nights and took no food and spoke to no visitor. The older villagers said that the man should not have eaten the taco and no sane man would do so and the price of such folly was known to all.”

Not for kids. Kids are smarter:

Believed in some primitive cultures to contain properties similar to sildenafil.