GTFO

Beaming with all the hopes and desires of American youth, he set forth as a leader of sorts. Just what sorts, it is impossible to say at this time.


But he had the imaginary support he needed to venture beyond the small environment he'd come to know as his home town.


Friends thought him foolish and felt free to frequently tell him so. Deep down they all felt envy. Envious that he could muster, where they could not, the courage that was necessary to embark beyond the notion that survival was based upon the ability to rise at 7AM five days a week. - Les Claypool

It is too damn hot for a penguin to just be walkin' around.

Time to get out of here.

-Alex who hasn't smelled a wader fart in far too long.

on the good days it does.

There are probably things that I should tell you. There are also probably things that you would want to hear, that I can't say, won't tell you, or don't know. Not for sure.

We took a trip to a new place. A place where you could probably get down the hill with two wheel drive, but you better hope that transfer case engages if you want to get your ass home.

A place where the end of the road is your only hope and you don't have to walk quite so far to feel like you are truly out of the world...

...and it was good:


The What:

I love poppers... so did they.

The Where:

Sweet Panorama-ness

More sweet panorama-ness

The good water is easy to spot if you know what to look for.

Lucky.

The very end of the road ended up being the only place where we could camp with river access. If someone had been here, I probably would not have been able to turn around and would have had to back the fully loaded truck up a nasty hill a long, long way. Needless to say I am glad there was no one around.

Other Shenanigans:

get your lounge on.

Aaron enjoying smoked space-monsters... good call.

Aaron peed this just for you.

It just looks like you don't want any, but you really do. I promise.

Breakfast of champions.

Dinner of champions.

-Alex who likes getting lucky.

Ditch...

Where is Pete McDonald when I need him?

-Alex who will do anything to make K8 happy.

Guess Where?

While Hilary is out in Denver covering the IFTD show, no doubt drinking free and gathering up wheelbarrows of schwag, the Editorial Trophy Wife and I decided to take a fly fishing related trip of our own. Here are a few hints to help you figure out where we are hiding out:

1. It's in Vermont (That should narrow it down for you)

2. The town is home to an American Museum and a major retailer / mail order company's flagship store, outlet, & school all related to, "the quiet sport."

3. It's not far from that same Major retailer / mail order company's corporate office.

4. The sidewalks here are paved with Marble.

5. Tomorrow we will be sneaking into aforesaid major retailer / mail order company, and purveyor of fly fishing gear's corporate compound and will be bringing our readers some exclusive dirt content.

Bragging rights to whoever can guess our location...

Death by Gluttony

Lake Baccarac, Mexico

1) Big bastard bass eats tilapia.
2) Big bastard bass chokes on tilapia and floats to surface.
3) Tilapia splashes around alerting Mike and friends.
4) Mike and friends release tilapia and eat bass.

The end.

Found in the Urban Wild: Smithsonian Edition

Some say it was medical quackery but I prefer to think of it as an artifact of bait fishing history?

He said Colorado, but we have our doubts (a drawn-while-drunk post)

Kyle Googles a lot. Thats what he does. A few weeks ago Aaron and I stumbled upon Mr. Deneen searching for some place called Peter Island. He said he wanted to "fish" there, but Aaron and I had our doubts.

I dropped him off at the airport this morning and did not have to forethought to take a peak at his itinerary. I guess we will never know.

(Artist rendering of Peter Island by Aaron Dennett)

a hard reentry

Today I stood above the sink for fifteen minutes with a flashlight and a pair of hemostats trying to dig out the cause of the hellish metal din that had been recently affecting the garbage disposal. After finding it and a few minutes of close inspection I still have no idea what it used to be.

I stood over the recently unpacked pile of gear and flies sitting on the kitchen table, just staring. My eyes wandering from thing to thing and I picked up a battered foam toad and turned it over in my hand. The green thread around the shank is frayed and broken, the thin ends unruly, sticking out every way like the weeds that pester the mesquite trees in my front yard. A rough mouth does that. I toss the fly back into the pile.

I did a load of whites.

I found a tangled leader while digging through my toiletries bag looking for chapstick. I untangled it and put it back even though I know that's not where it goes.

An editor for a local magazine called me and wanted me to take a photo of something but I am motivationally challenged and have feet that are a few shades darker than they used to be and don't like sitting at my computer.

It's almost been a week, now.

Havana Club and soda with a lime and one more cast?... No? Damn.

Isla Holbox teaser

Pete jumping a big water tarpon.

videos, pics and more...stay tuned.

Things to come: falling two miles into the sea

The anticipation is nearly drowned by responsibility, coming up for air only long enough to stir up my guts and make me feel like I don’t have enough time to prepare. I will go to Mike’s  soon to tie up some leaders and flies after picking up some Rio Hard Saltwater Nylon in the 44lb, 33lb, and 22lb variety, and also some 40lb Seaguar Classic fluorocarbon for the baby tarpon and snook. I still need to procure a 10wt, having ready an 8 and 12…

Holbox Island will be the host for the party that will start less than 48 hours after the conclusion of the twenty-first Wrinkleneck Invitational Tournament -- Five days of insanity in the White Mountains of Arizona followed by a full week of white sand, rum, and hardcore fly on saltwater action. The photography of a wedding is what brings me to this island, but also friendship and the opportunity to finally bust my saltwater-on-the-fly cherry.

I have much work to do before the Wrinkleneck tournament, things that must be done because it is my duty but also because it is necessary for the promotion of ass-kicking…  Things that on a daily basis seem to get in the way of excitement, but maybe it is a good thing and keeps me from tapping my proverbial pencil waiting for the day that shit finally gets fishy and I can cast a line without worrying about the next pile of retardation to plop into in my inbox.

Also, Gracie and I are cooking up something the likes of which the online fly fishing world has never seen that may very change the way you read fishing-related blog posts for the rest of your life… but all in good time, my friends. All in good time.

In less than 2 weeks the insanity will begin.

I should probably put some pants on and get to work.

-A

Ali's Travelog: Pakistan

FlyfishMagazine's Westernmost correspondent, Ali Hassan, who has been AWOL for about a week now, finally grabbed some bandwidth and sent a few pics from his fishing trip to what is at the moment at least, one of the most dangerous places on Earth. So far he hasn't been fishing but he does know where you can get a cool bootleg copy of Avatar really cheap and is doing more than his part to revive the dances of the early 90's.

"Betullah mehsud (Taliban commander) has been killed in a drone attack. There will be a tit for tat response. However, I have not been spending much time home. The city of Peshawar is heavily fortified with police and military check posts. Some check posts have tanks and RPG personnel. I am shocked and happy to see that the city limits has been deweaponized. No one is carrying a gun however the tribal belt is a different story. Last night my cousin hosted a party in a suburb (hayat abad) which not too long ago had Taliban patrolling its streets. There was alcohol and dancing girls. My family and friends find it extremely amusing that being raised in a western environment I don’t drink however I did not reject offers to do the Macarena Dance with the girls."

The average Pakistani citizen is an extremely humble and probably one of the most hospitable individual on the planet. I did mange to squeeze in a partridge hunt in the country side and saw the great Pashtun (tribe) tradition of hospitality. We climbed a very large mountain in chase of partridge and was surprised to sea a delegation on locals awaiting our arrival with tea and sweets midway. We continued our climb, the mountains are intimidating, made of large boulders and the occasional fig tree.


The locals are of a different stock, many with blue eyes and sharp facial features illustrating their European bloodline. I was just as impressed on their ability to climb these mountain with plastic slippers. My $150 pair of Danner USA shoes could not keep up with our guide in flip flops. After a half day hunt we descended down to the village of Swaway and stopped at the local mosque for evening prayers. Next to the mosque, Village kids were playing cricket and just for fun my cousin told them that we are here to administer vaccinations for all kids under 15. There shy smiles immediately transformed into worried looks as they took backward steps resulting in every child running home and abandoning their game. Some kids were so terrified that they left their bats and balls on the field. Who says American kids don’t have anything in common with Pakistani kids.



The electricity and Internet connection is poor. Unfortunately, I need both to stay connected and not having electricity hinders my ability to do so. I cant log onto the blog due to poor Internet speed. So I cant update the blog or stay on line for long. However I have attached a few photos. The first is a vendor selling a DVD of Avatar (bootlegger). 2nd cow transport on camel back. See you folks next week

With the security issues he is facing it might be hard for Ali to wet a fly on this trip. After all he is in a place where that big bird you see flying overhead might well be watching you and capable of turning you in a watery vapor at the drop of a hat. Hopefully he will get a chance to do some fishing but if not his reports will still make for good reading. While other blogs bring you fish porn we may be the first to provide first hand pics of an cow riding a camel. I'm just saying.....

A preview of things to come, v6.0

Tonight as Aaron mentioned, we are off to the mountains, but next week it's back to work. So stay tuned for the trip write-up.

Also coming next week:

Fat Guy's and their stiff shorties:
Redington Predator 6wt and 8wt review.

-Alex who has 2 inch balls on his hitch.

Space Fail

Alex and I are packing up the Jeep for another trip north to Arizona's white mountains. The space issue is not quite this bad, but I can relate.

No use in bitching, You just gotta keep on keepin on and kick some ass!

-Aaron, who is glad he didn't opt for a mid size car.

A minor, stinky setback.

The fluorescents buzz as the dull round blade pops a slice into Chef Boyardee’s can of beefy noodely goodness.

Twist crunch, twist crunch, pop; the top flips up and I pour the contents into a bowl. Then I hear something.

What the hell is that? I think it’s the cat. Damn roommates cat, what has that damn thing gotten into now? I put my bowl in the microwave, Scratch, meow, scratch scratch. Push one, three, zero, start; meow, meow scratch. The light comes on, as the glass tray slowly circulates for maximum heating deliciousness; scratch, meow… Goddammit alright, ALRIGHT!

I follow the cries for help and for a moment it sounds like its coming from my bedroom. Dammit. I open the door and fuzzy yellow flies past my feet to freedom.

I start to close the door and stop: I smell something. Shit. Literally.

My eyes float to the floor, as I carefully navigate my cat-shit-colored carpet for the little stink jewel left just for me.

Not in my shoes, good. Not in the hamper or laundry basket, good. Not on the floor anywhere, that’s odd. I raise my gaze to the bed. Not on my pillow, good.

What the hell?

As I turn to check the closet, something catches my eye. On top of the floor, on top of my bed, on top of my freshly-packed-for-Colorado woodland camouflage duffle bag and blending right in is the biggest, red and brownest, runniest cat turn I have ever laid eyes.

Fantastic.

Latex gloves snap, soap bubbles, and brushes scrub, and I walk outside to hang the bag to dry.

I open the door and walk back into the kitchen, my nostrils still assaulted by the lingering particles, I leave the door open to try and clear the air.

As I move toward the back of the house, a beep reminds me that my meal reached tasty warmness a while ago.

I walk to the microwave, open the door stare into the bowl: Red, brown, chunky. Mmmmm. Don’t think so.

I was ready, so ready. Now I am hungry, partially unpacked, and out of beer while my zippered junk holding devise, still smelling of soapy cat-scat, flops in the wind outside just waiting to drive some airport drug dog batshit nuts.

Still, only a minor setback. And with a bit of luck, at 11:45am tomorrow morning myself and my doodie-duffle will be northward bound to kick ass and find carp and cutbows with MG and Kyle in Colorado. Oh joyous day!

-Alex who will double-check his pillow before retiring tonight.

Everybody is somewhere all the time.

With Soundgarden playing and Charlie Sheen wondering around in the jungle muted in the background, I sit here at the computer with many things on my mind, but nothing to say, really.

I was sitting at the bar earlier today, drinking a Pyrat and coke and really trying to not pay attention to anything in particular when the guy on the bar stool next to me leaned over:

"This is great, right?" Waving a drink-laden hand toward a intoxicated woman's expansive cleavage near the end of the bar. "I mean, where would you rather be than here?"

Now that's an interesting question. Where would I rather be? Uh.... lots of places. But I really have no idea. I haven't seen the world, which really makes me unqualified to answer that question. People say it's a small world, and that may be true in some philosophical sense, but it still takes a hell of a long time to fly from the southwestern United States to the east coast. And that seems like a pretty long way to me, and there is still like 37,000 miles to go to end up where you started.

Call it stereotypical, but I would rather be fishing. And if I wasn't fishing, I would be taking photos of people fishing. Preferable somewhere cooler than here, and with my friends.

So where would I be? Who knows. But it wouldn't be in Tucson, and it sure as hell wouldn't be in a bar pretending to be stuck in some kind of rut.

-Alex who knows that wherever you go, there you are.

This happens a lot lately

If I pack a travel rod then there is no water in sight. Leave the rod home and what amounts to a brownline spring creek shows up outside my hotel window. If by chance you are wondering where in the world I am today. I'm in the town where Wayne and Garth's public access cable show aired. Party On!

Of course this song deserves its own posting.

Flight Delays