The Neil Creek Chronicles 58°19'59"N 134°29'49"W

2011 - in the RearView.

2012-01-03T17:26:00.000-08:00

Another year, another 13,624 fish. A few more stamps in the ol' passport, a few more lines on our face, a few more gray hairs among the few remaining hairs on our head.

There were some pretty big changes in the way things roll around the Neil Creek Estate this year, and most of them were net-positive.

For starters, we are no longer trading our long-term joint health and general physical well-being for money anymore. On the upside, this whole "work with your brain" thingy is pretty nifty, and although the initial transition was a little bumpy, we are nestling into the role nicely, thank you. As for the downside, well...let's just say that there is more of us lately, and part of the new year's resolution is to dust off the old college weight-set and play a little more hockey than, oh, 3 games a year.

We celebrated our 10th anniversary with the wife this year, and are still secretly amazed that she has stuck around this long. Must be our amazingly awesome multiple personalities, or the copious amounts of cash that the Neil Creek Empire generates on a second-by-second basis...or maybe it's just that we remember to do the dishes every now and then and tell her that she smells nice.

We are also fully vested in what used to be a serious hobby - for richer (not) and for poorer, in sickness and in health, and for better and for worse...We are now full-time in the industry and we will try not to hate the briar patch too much, br'er Fox.

At any rate, 2011 is what it was, and if we can't change it, then at least we can remember the good and learn from the bad.

46 reasons that 2011 didn't suck.

The Cap'n, showing some deep respect for the cinematic flyfishing oeuvre

The Afro in Modern Fly Angling: A Triptych.

Got to make some TeeVee with this fella last fall.

Nice enough guy, but he needs to shoot the puck more.

It may be disrespectful, but if you spent hours dialing in a custom setup only to lose it on some sunken piece of detritus, you'd be pissed off too.

The children at rest.

More food tourism.

Go ahead. Fish for them.

Just enough time to catch our breath...RoadTrip '12 v1 and v1.1 commence in 15 days.

Can't wait, Fisha.

Confessions of a Gear Whore.

2011-12-02T20:02:00.000-08:00

We are in the middle of step 4.

After conducting a searching and fearless fishing gear inventory, it has come to our attention that, despite trying to practically GIVE rods, reels and lines away, we still have far too much fishing gear for one sane individual to actually fess up to owning.

Uh, lessee...at least a few halibut rods layin' about...a bunch of old pitchin' sticks and one-piece trigger blanks from the bass days, as well as a couple of stout spinning rods...3 or 4 jiggin' sticks, a half-dozen mooching rods, and at LEAST a dozen steelhead gear rods. A metric assload of old levelwinds, and probably just as many twisty-reels.

Oh.

Flyrods?

Yeah, we got a pile of those too...

Thing is, none of the rods were acquired with any ulterior motives, or for any reason other than fishing.

Some fellas get the latest and greatest, some get the most expensive, some get the one that matches their wardrobe the best, and some buy gear looking for the "silver bullet" the magic that will make their cast longer and straighter while whitening their teeth and losing 20 pounds of ugly flab...others are content to have one rod or one reel and make adaptations as needed.

Us...well, in case you haven't noticed, we're Übergeeks when it comes to fishin' gear. We like to futz and putter with gear, checkin' out the different static and swing weights of all manner of rod, flexing and wiggling a blank while admiring the nodes, scrutinizing fit and finish...more than that, we like the way each rod that we own has its own distinct soul, a different feel, a certain chutzpah about it that makes it a pleasure to cast or to fish with.

We make this last distinction because we readily admit that yes, we have actually purchased rods that are damn near worthless as fishing tools, but are fun as hell to cast.

To this pile, we add one more.

Pros: Good aesthetic, slim blank, whippy in the right way, super-fast recovery, light as a duck fart.
Cons: Lumpy, oversized handle...C'mon Jerry, take some of that cork off, fer chrissakes...crappy name.

We'll see if the new girl holds her own as a fishing tool come spring. Until then, she will just have to take her lumps from the other rods.

Snowing, Snowing...Gone.

2011-11-15T17:52:00.000-08:00

Here:

There:

That's right, kids.

RoadTrip '11 v6 begins in 20 hours, 42 minutes, and 11 seconds.

A brief stopover in Starbucksville is in order, to visit the nice older couple we used to live with. After that, we're off to the land of BBQ, Shiner, good Mexican food, and thermometer readings higher than your average presidential candidate IQ.

We'll give thanks in the traditional fashion with the In-Laws, then it's off to TurkeyDayFootballLand for the last rendition of the Showdown. We may be family and all, but we're sittin' on the maroon side of the couch, lest we annoy the wife - She socked us one time when we were rockin' out to a Sabbath album 'cause she thought we were givin' the "hook 'em" sign.

At any rate, friends and family will be looked up, good food will git et, and iced (or "ass" in the local lexicon) tea will be consumed in copious quantity. 8 days in the sun, and we ain't fixin to waste no time enjoyin' it.

See you in December, fisha.

A month in pictures

2011-11-09T16:55:00.000-08:00

Back.

Busy.

We'll tell you a little more about it when the dust settles, but we are in the middle of changing tracks on the railroad of life at the moment. Don't you worry, it's been a long time coming, and it IS for the better...

In the meantime, here is a pictoral ode to our piscatorial dance partners, our touchstones of the soul, our eternal finned friends and dihydrogen-oxide-inclined buddies.

Enjoy.

Pic stolen from Mr. Rogers - thanks, K.

And to top it all off...

It is winter again.

Ready to Run

2011-10-09T20:21:00.000-07:00

RoadTrip '11 v5 commences in 12 hours, 44 minutes, and 29 seconds, kids.

We tied 'til our fingers bled for this one, so as usual we got more flies than a Mexican dump. Lotta new questions to throw at the fish, lotta craziness from the dark corners of a fish-diseased mind. We are, of course, fully prepared to get the fin on some of the new creations, but there's others that will most likely crush in new and interesting ways when we get all up in the weird water.

Also a new feature on this trip are the 45'+ lines. We got some quality time in with a few short-bellies, and we are diggin' the feel - we're gonna be hard-pressed to give up the scandi compact love when it comes to skating the pockets, but when we get the chance, we're gonna let the longer dogs do a little huntin' this year.

5 rods
6 reels
18 lines
12 running lines
4 sets of tips...mid-day work, you understand.
3,117 flies
8 miles of leader material
2 lucky hats
1 flask full of Lagavulin 16 year old...only guaranteed to last the first day.

11 full days in the breaks, traveling at night and low to the ground, prowlin' around the water nobody else likes, throwin' darts into the strange and lookin' for new dance partners...

Can't wait, fisha.

The Wetness

2011-09-15T14:53:00.000-07:00

We are pretty sure that it has rained every damn minute of every day for the last 30 days running. Realistically, we know this isn't true...it didn't rain last saturday. Regardless, facts aren't important here - we're going for feel, and it feels like October already, and it isn't even fall. Yet. Officially.

At any rate, when a fella can actually find a flow that isn't flooding or doesn't resemble a muddy wash box, things have been pretty good. The dollies are finally coming back to their traditional late summer resting spots after being forced into exile by about a kabillion pink salmon, and the coho run is progressing nicely, thank you. Vise time has been productive as well, with a few new quirks to work on for the local end game as well as the start of RoadTrip season.

Speaking of RoadTrips, RoadTrip '11 v5 commences in a mere 24 days, 19 hours, and 5 minutes - as usual, not like we're counting or anything. 12 days of long rods, desert, dirtbags, and steel, then back to civilization...well, SE AK anyhow. Until then, we're just gonna have to remember to rotate out the soggy gear on a regular basis, and check for mold often.

Scenes from The Wetness.

Humpies, in all their gory glory.

Punchy, gettin' after it for the cameras.

Maggot farm.

The graph from Hell.

Blackwater 'ho.

Locals in the hole.

How to burn up camera equipment in the rainforest.

The aftermath of the "party like you are 19, but fall asleep like you are 42" bash.

Flood damage.

Out with the old...

...and in with the new.

Pot farmin'.

Chunky.

RoadTrip '11 v6 is currently in the works, with a trip to the Gulf Coast in the offing. Big bulls in the grass, a flats skiff, and several cases of Shiner are involved, but we're still in the planning stages - we'll keep you posted...until then, we're just gonna hold out hope for a few more days like saturday.

Oh, yeah...

2011-08-14T10:50:00.000-07:00

It's not that we don't like y'all, or that y'all smell funny or somethin - we have just been preoccupied with other aspects of life for a bit and sorta let the whole blogging thing fall by the wayside. After our writing slipped, we started to lose some basic grooming and hygiene skills...come to think of it, we have been grunting and pointing a LOT lately...

ANYWAYS, first it was June that flew by, now a whole 'nother month is gone, and it seems like the ride is picking up speed the older we get. Speaking of older, we have a birthday coming up, so if you happen to have an extra Ferrari or a spare million bucks or something, feel free to send it to Us in lieu of a regular birthday present.

The dog days of summer have come and gone, and we are losing light fast, folks. Every morning we have to listen to that jerk on the radio say something inane like "14 hours and 22 minutes of daylight, a loss of 4 minutes, 49 seconds". Some mornings we fantasize about beating him with his microphone before he gets to the lost daylight part.

Daylight burning, Neil Creek style - scenes from the home games.

Puller

Humptastic.

The dog days

...not so much

Shiny shiny

Damn your eyes

the Killing Fields

Dance partners

Murmurs of a trip, rumors of an excursion have been flying around lately. The official travel agent of the Neil Creek Center has us locked in for RoadTrip '11 v5.0, but the word around the campfire is a side-excursion might have us headed north to a big river with big fish. Supposedly, we're gonna be working during this trip, but we're pretty sure that some play-time has been factored in.

Summer's damn near over, kids. Get it while you can.

June, in the rearview.

2011-07-12T17:27:00.001-07:00

Well, THAT month went by fast.

From the tropics to damn near the arctic in 5 days, and from salt to fresh, and back to salt again...by the time we got a chance to catch our breath, it was July, and that means it's time to pay the Piper again.

We wouldn't work if we didn't have to, but the Wife doesn't like freeloaders loafin' around the house. Back to the salt mines with us, and hopefully we'll make enough to cover the next 8 months' fun.

Pictures from a better time.

Coach, gettin' his swang on.

28" of love, morning-style.

Dork, trout.

the Narwhal, newest member of the Over30 club.

Gonger with his fish of a lifetime.

4th night, right about the time that everything is funny.

The Last Good Cast.

Sweet release.

4 days and 1,106 miles later...

Snap, crackle, $.

Love on the swing...

On the grill...

And fresh from the smoker.

We're actually looking forward to a little work - idle hands are the Devil's hands and all that. Problem is, we been havin' a hell of a good time on our seasonal retirement this year, so easin' in to work mode might be a little harder this year. Until we get into full swing, we'll probably be weaning ourselves off the local, cutting back the time incrementally instead of quitting fishing cold-turkey. When we do quit fishin' due to the harsh mistress Work, we have a head full of memories to rely on, as well as the future to look forward to...

RoadTrip '11 v5.0 and v5.1, kids. Only 74 more days 'til we're living the dream again.

RoadTrip '11 v3 Abstract, Analysis

2011-06-17T11:01:00.000-07:00

*Sigh*

It seems like so long ago, yet it has only been 16 days since we got back from RoadTrip '11 v3. Granted, there was another epic RoadTrip in between then and now, but that is another plot for later in the movie.

11 days of Sun, sand, fish, sun, tacos, snorkeling, sun, beer, tequila, sun, chillin' on the patio...did we mention sun? The sun was hot at like, 6:42am. By midday, it was hotter than 2 rats screwing in a wool sock. Our pasty-white AK carcasses never stood a chance, sunscreen or no. We spent a lot of time in our poly sunshields, diving in the water when things got too hot, then relying on the miracle of evaporation to cool us down.

Tacos have always been a love of ours, but something about set and setting (remember that from your trippin' days, hippie?) make even the most average tacos seem sublime. Throw in a cold beer with a little limon, and the universe seems a much better place. We managed to land in 2 or 3 exquisite taquerias that would have made the DEC choke...dirt floors, dogs wandering around, chickens fighting in the outhouse...but for the amazing food we were served in these places, there's a whole lot more we could have endured.

As some of y'all know, we loves us some snorkeling, and this trip didn't disappoint. A mere hop, skip, and shimmy over the hot sand from the patio put us right smack in the middle of the best reef for a few miles, and we wasted no time gettin' our snorkel on. Even after the local reef hunters sacked it, there were still more fish, eels, and rays than you could shake a stick at.

As an aside, this trip was more than the everyday ordinary Neil Creek Traveling RoadShow and Beer Fountain...Us n' The Wife happened to celebrate our 10th anniversary mid-trip, a day made memorable by some bitchin' chorizo tacos and a long snorkeling session, capped off by a siesta after some arroz con frijoles with fresh maize tortillas. For those of y'all that didn't send anniversary gifts (symbolizing Ideas and Symbols, traditionally expressed by Diamond Jewelry...c'mon, keep up, you heathen), feel free to post them to the Neil Creek Center for Anadromous Salmon Research, c/o G_Smolt. Remember, it's never too late.

At any rate, enough blathering. The following is a non-chronological series of photographs, some of which will need some explanation - in these cases, we will provide some background using spanglish, ameslan, or birdcalls and various jungle noises. For your viewing pleasure, we also recommend a Mariachi album, or a good Don Julio side, if you are into that sort of thing. And a cold beer.

Going in style. "If you are gonna go, might as well go in the Big Seats" is our new motto.

First day in-country, and we're on the program. Breakfast of champions.

The digs...640 sq ft of living space, 800 sq ft of patio over the water...our kind of priorities.

Flora and fauna from the patio

Combs, about 200 yds off the beach.

DIY Ceviche, in 3 easy steps.

Speaking of Ceviche, the jacks and assorted reef fish tore our little 5wt reel a new one. After one spectacularly bad grinding noise followed by an interesting spell emanating from its innards, we decided to investigate. Pliers? check. Butterknife? check. Something big to use as a hammer, if necessary? got it. Doctor, the patient is ready.

So much for the sealed cork drag. However, we have a 2nd degree black belt in Ghetto Engineering, and saw the proper fix a mile off. We repurposed a water bottle to a higher calling...problem solved.

Night ops

"103 pesos? sweet!"

Did we mention the tacos de desayuno con batata, chorizo, huevos y pico de gallo?

Sunrise

More bloggers than you can shake a stick at

The Mexican got hisself a big ol' tuna one day, and we managed to weasel an invite over to his place for some serious eatin'...scenes from an all-out fiesta.

Before the carnage

Love from the Blue Water

Atun Aguachile - concombre, cebolla, serrano, y jugo de limon. Smashing.

Searing the Sea-Beef

Bliss

Images from a reef

SnorkelNerds

"¡Oiga! ¿Como esta?"
"Bien, bien.¿Que desea ordenar?"
"Quisiera un kilo de bisteca para la brasa, por favor."
"No problemo."
"¿Donde esta el jugo de naranja?"
"Seis pasillo, a la derecha."
"Gracias."
"De nada."
"Nos vemos"
So even though we still can't conjugate our way out of a paper bag, we still remember some middle-school spanish and had sufficient pointing and grunting skills to convey at least a modicum of information...The result? Steak tacos. Winning!

Hazards to barefoot beachwalking - these things were everywhere.

We had a standoff with this guy out front one day, a mexi...nevermind.

The only good cucaracha

So big, he needed shoes

The Mexican took us for a boatride one day, and that's pretty much when our paradigm shift occurred. Salt fish are now part of our lexicon, and we see combs in our dreams. We will be back for more of this, sooner or later.

We'd be nervous too if we knew what was in store.

Pelecainos, workin' for their sardina

The Wife, makin' sure that Capitan Marcos got his ceviche fixin's

El Tiburon

Not sure when we will get back, but we know that we made the most of the time we had there. Many thanks to Martz the Mexican, Crumptastic, K8, and all the other folks that we bumped into on our anniversary trip.

We'll leave you with our 2 favorite images from the trip.

Hasta luego, amigos.

One down, one to go

2011-06-06T11:23:00.000-07:00

RoadTrip '11 v3 is in the can. There is still a bit of PTDD (post-trip depression disorder...c'mon, keep up) lingering, and while we haven't openly wept while browsing through the trip photos, we'll admit that we get a bit misty-eyed and have a sudden lust for tacos and ceviche. We haven't done much editing, but after chopping up a few pics, we figured there was a little too much story to tell and not much time between now and RoadTrip '11 v4...so for now, here's a little taste of the tropics.

That was then, this is now. RoadTrip '11 v4 commences in 23 hours, 52 minutes, and 18 seconds. We're makin' a list, but we're pretty sure that we got the basics covered - Babywipes, Scotch, 7133 & 7132, huge-ass flies, Darth Vader mask, bail money, and a baggie for our pride when we get crushed by Walter...'cause you know it's gonna happen. 5 Days in the Holy Water, a week in the grease, 120 hours with the the peddler of Hope, the crusher of Dreams...we've been there before, and like a fool to his folly and a dog to his vomit, we're goin' back to get sunburned, chapped, chafed, schooled, and humbled. The last time, we pulled off a few wins, took a few from the home team - we're hopin' for a repeat performance this time but we know how fickle lady luck can be, so we ain't holdin' our breath.

Can't wait, fisha.

El sudar abajo del hombre

2011-05-19T14:34:00.000-07:00

Estamos casi listos para irse. Pronto seremos el conseguir hecho listos y comenzaremos nuestro viaje. ¿Nuestra destinación? Sur de la frontera, donde el pez gallo grande nadadas en el mar azul calient...Waaaait a minute. Y'all understand spanish, ¿correcto? ¿Por qué no?

The local game is still going, but we tuned that out a few days ago to concentrate on the big picture...not that packing 4 pairs of board shorts and 3 island-hopper shirts took that long, mind you, but we had to get in the proper frame of mind...so we took our own damn sweet time. The time for RoadTrip v3 is upon us - We don't know about you, but hot-ass sunshine, running around on the hot sand, trying not to succumb to heatstroke or dehydration, drinking our body weight in margaritas daily and snorkeling / fishing / lazing about all day for 11 days sounds like a pretty OK proposition.

A few 10wts, spare lines, big-ass flies, a beachfront condo, a 4-wheeler, a pidgin dictionary, Iodine tablets, and enough bail money to keep us free in most 3rd world fishing destinations...We're goin' to the Big Show.

Less than 22 hours 'til go time.

Comin' up on Game Time

2011-04-25T16:17:00.000-07:00

Things are looking up around the Neil Creek Estate.

Work for the quarter is rapidly coming to a close, and not a minute too soon - if we keep tyin' at the rate we been goin', either our fingers are gonna fly off or we'll be blind inside a month. Also, in case y'all don't live in the current iteration of paradise-on-earth known as SouthEast Alaska, spring has finally started springing 'round these parts, and we have been experiencing perturbations in the space-time continuum around some of the local flows. The pull is weak at the moment, but we are pretty sure that things will start happening with exponential speed here in about 128 hours, give or take a few minutes.

Recent spy-satellite imaging is showing a nice snowpack beginning to tatter at the edges, and the latest data from the gaugeheads show the telltale signs of spring...all signs point to fish before the week is out.

In related news, RoadTrip '11 V3 and V4 are set to commence in 24 and 42 days, respectively. V3 has us en Baja con la esposa, empapando para arriba el sol con una bebida a disposición y nuestros dedos del pie en la arena, and V4 is a continuation of Opening Day tradition, where we go to the Kapuqarwit on the Alarneret Kuigat and catch ungllik'ar with our narulkar.

Some of you probably don't speak Spanish or Yu'pik, so just try to follow the best you can, and we'll go slow when we get to the difficult parts.

The pull is getting stronger - the season of fish will soon be upon us.

'Bout time.

2011-04-02T11:56:00.000-07:00

We would like to take this opportunity to tell y'all about a new addition to our little family here at the Neil Creek Estate.

After 4 tense months, we finally got the call - the new kid was coming home. At 4½ lbs, 40 inches (he don't take up much room), he's yellin' and laughin' like he owns the place already. He's a lot lighter blonde than his older brother, and he definitely has a different voice, but other than a few birthmarks and such they could be twins. We try to spend an equal amount of time with both of them, just to make sure that they don't get jealous of each other, but the new kid is a joy to play with, and we're pretty tickled to finally have him here.

A shot of the boys at rest- that's Woody on the right, and 'Hog on the left.

What, you thought we were talking about REAL kids?

No way. Too much snot and poo.

ANYWAYS, here's a few beauty shots of 'Hog. He is a Collings D1A, custom built for us - a first, as usually we are too damn cheap to buy anything new - with a few appointments that we felt we just couldn't live without.

We're preferential to the 1¾" neck, with the semi-v "almost vintage" feel, 'cause it is dang smooth and easy to hold on to. We opted for the ebony fretboard without all those foo-foo dots and snowflakes - leave the mother-of-toilet-seat inlays to the Nashville weenies. This is a pickin' guitar, not an ornament.

'Hog sports an Adirondack spruce top with some pretty cool bearclaw - we always liked bearclaw for the individuality it lends to an otherwise identical entity. Some folks say that the more clawed a piece of wood, the harder it is and the better instrument tops it makes. Us, we don't know. It sure does sound pretty, though.

The dalmatian pickguard goes nice with the light color of the top, don't it? We sure do like us some 'shell, and we though that this best represented that aesthetic without spendin' a mint and getting our new boy confiscated by some goofball with a CITES writ.

We're tickled to have the boys out on stands right next to the heater. They stay warm at night, and we get a chance to pick 'em up and take 'em for a whirl if the notion strikes us - lately, we seem to have that notion quite a bit.

We'll get our pickin' time in, but the season of fish is looming on the horizon. We did some stream-sniffin' and rock-lickin' the other day, and we're puttin first fin about 26-27 days out.

'Til then, we'll be home with the boys.

Repent, Recant, Recalibrate

2011-03-12T17:06:00.000-08:00

Remember our stance on loud reels? The kind that sound like cats screwing in a tin can?

...Yeah, we do too.

*Sigh*

We have been lookin' to round out the twig selection, and finally settled on the Winston BII-x 7133 - super sweet action, light in the hand, all a fella needs for long-bellies to super shorties. We figured we had the reel all picked out for this one, too - sealed drag, no click, bombproof, idiot-proof...all the things that we dig in a reel.

But after we got to fondle the Silveynator's super-sweet BII-x 7133/Bougle setup, we decided that if we were gonna pull the trigger on a new twig, might as well go whole hog and get us one of those loud reels to make the package complete. We got all kinds of excuses for this irrational behavior...it balances the 7133 perfectly, the ivory handle feels good, it sits tight underneath the rod, blah blah blah...but it came down to pure aesthetics on this one.

This one was just too sexy to pass up.

For the moment, it is our new baby. We gotta admit, when the line gets rippin' off this thing, it is kinda like someone else's baby - as in, a loud caterwauling that you wish would stop. Still, we are happy with our new acquisition. Yes, it IS a bit on the traditional side, and given our stance on tradition this might seem a little hypocritical. But you can't move forward until you know the past, so we're filing this one under "research purposes".

85 days 'til we get to put it to the test.

Checkin' back in

2011-02-19T20:27:00.000-08:00

Whew.

34 days.
4127 miles.
4 safe houses.
3 rental cars.
3 shows.
52,495 conversations.
195 hours in a 10x10 box.
3 casting contests.
5 rivers.
1 lost shooting head.
1 sushi party.
1 luau.
47 cubic yards of snow shoveled.

It's been a hazy 5 weeks, but we're finally back at the Neil Creek Estate with no trips on the horizon...which is a good thing, because the ocean of work that filled up our dance card while we were gone is in imminent danger of gettin' all tsunami on our ass.

Video to edit, flies to tie, forms to fill out, receipts to turn in, apologies to be sent, hazy nights to be recollected...

Nose-to-the-grindstone time. We gotta make sure the runway is clear for May, 'cause we got a Mexican date with a hot chick, a margarita, a panga, and a sexy roosterfish somewhere south of La Paz that we gotta get to.

Randomness from the last few weeks-

Doppelgangër, leanin' into his second of the day.

Cap'n Ron, with his "yes, they WILL eat that tiny thing" fish.

Sushi, anyone?

Normally, we're fairly humble and respectful around
Creek Woman...but not when she steals lines that we
spent HOURS dialin' in.

The Silveynator, gettin' some footage of Doppelgangër's first of two.

The infamous Chinese Mexican in his native habitat.

Rest, recoup...not for awhile. We got some work to do between now and the next play-date. Doesn't mean we won't be replaying the last few weeks' worth of footage over and over in the cinema of the mind about 82 times a day...

It's what keeps us going.

Got the Time?

2011-01-05T16:19:00.000-08:00

Not that we're counting, but RoadTrip '11 v1.0/1.1 commences in 10 days, 13 hours, 56 minutes and 31 seconds.

In physiological time, that translates to "Not a moment too soon".

We have spent some time this winter worrying about the outcome of things largely beyond our control, so any release from that condition is a welcome distraction, however short.

Loose ends are being gathered, provisions are in the process of being lardered, and boughs are being laid upon the fire in anticipation of our upcoming journey. With the process comes the fearless inventory of supplies...

Somethin' tells us we're gonna need a few more.

66 reasons to like 2010

2010-12-31T12:06:00.000-08:00

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then here's a 66,000 word dissertation on 2010...plus or minus a few words.

Thanks to Narwhal, the Fanz, Paddy, Crumptastic, Choudawg and the Wife for helping us document a good year, and here's to hopin' that we all do it again next year.

Onward to 2011.

Speaking of Tradition...

2010-12-23T15:29:00.000-08:00

Happy Christmakaunakwanzaakah, folks...We're pretty sure that we forgot to wish y'all a happy festivus season in 2008, so this is the make-up year for that.

As with most pre-packaged and rampantly consumerized holidays, we're already WAY over this one for the year. We're looking forward to a little us-time with the Wife, who has a similarly (but not equally, thank gjod...someone has to be nice to the dinner guests) Grinch-esque take on the seasonal goings-on this year. We have a small bash planned with some of the peeps, and our pre-, mid-, and post-holiday peregrinations should get us in front of and around most of the fine folks we call friends.

On other traditional notes, the itineraries for RoadTrip '11 v1.0, v1.1, and v2.0 are now in place. With this show cycle encompassing pretty much the entire (and now vastly diminished, dammit) endemic range of the Eastern Pacific Steelhead, we are squeezing in little, tiny windows of opportunity here and there along our hectic schedule. 6 hours here, a day there, mebbe a midnight drive somewhere along the line...Business before pleasure, but as long as the job gets done and all bases are covered, the home office lets us get away with a half-day of release every now and then.

With the RoadTrip season comes the usual and clandestine hatching of plans and making of calls. This year, these include random emails back and forth from the home office, a little bit of seat-of-the-pants flyin' when it comes to arrangements that (by now) should be solid, what to do if 300lbs of wild Bristol Bay sockeye filets arrive a few days early, figuring out the run timing of the myriad rivers along this years trail...and, of course, some time in the Tying Wing of the Neil Creek Museum for the Piscatorial Arts.

Speaking of other traditions...is it just us, or should the Intruder be considered a "traditional pattern" now?

They sure are fun to tie, and just in case you have been living under a rock since the '90's, they have been known to entice the odd fish every now and then.

RoadTrip '11 v1.0 commences in 26 days, folks. Between now and then, we gotta get a squirrel roundup organized, drink a gallon or so of 'nog, make some resolutions, and keep fillin' the flybox...Happy Christmahaunakwanzaakah to all, and to all a good night.

RoadTrip '10 v6 Analysis, Discussion.

2010-11-10T11:17:00.000-08:00

It wasn't quite 40 years, but we still spent most of October wandering the desert, in search of...

Steel?

Ok, so it ain't Psalm 107:4 , but close enough. The desire to be near steelhead has driven many a man to improbable acts, and while leaving AK in the fall to fish for a bunch of puny A-runs is a fairly contrary act (see also: RoadTrip '10 v5 Recap, Box score), it is not unheard of...matter of fact, this was the 4th such peregrination to the hinterlands.

We had a grand total of about 113 hours in between trips this time, just enough to get all of the AK gear sorted and stowed and the new rods laid out, do a little emergency "holy crap, what are we forgetting?" time at the vise, wash all of the fleece that we own, and shove 2 weeks' worth of crap into a pile small enough to not pay overweight luggage charges AND get into the back of an economy-class rental car.

This year was nice.

This year, we didn't have a single day of leaky waders...last year, we didn't have a dry day.

This year, we got a chance to study at the feet of the fish, to learn from the river...last year, we ran around like a chicken with its head cut off.

This year, a fella had to have a game plan, and had to come at it with some humility and deference...last year, everyone and their grandma was catching fish.

This year, we took some pics and did some hangin' out with some like-minded dirtbags...last year, we fished like casts were food and we were starving.

This year was nice - for those of you that didn't spend 14 days wandering the desert in search of steel, this is what you missed, in no particular order.

Lowholin' bastards.

Live bait, Montana-style.

"...ok, dammit, what are we forgetting? Anything?"
A partial selection of the tasty things thrown to friends this year.

This guy ambled down the bar one morning and lowholed us by skating himself across a juicy tailout.

Captain DirtBag, enjoying some fine reading material in the courtyard of the DirtBag Hilton.

The Gonger, in his own version of Geek Heaven.

Moving day...more river for us.

Dog and Pony show...photo stolen from Steelie Mike D, without permission, then altered to protect the guilty.

The ceremonial shotgun - we documented, then hit one solo. We woulda won.

Big(horn) pimpin'

If you haven't fished with a two-hander at night, you haven't fished. If you haven't fished a two-hander at night while rockin' the 'fro, you are missing a whole universe of mojo.

Another night-ops fish, this one taken out of the back pocket of a bobber-flinger...swing or die, heathen.

If there is anything more fun than speycasting at night, it would have to be skating flies for steel. Like the feeling one gets from involuntary adrenaline rushes, impromptu participation in kinky sex, or the ingestion of high-quality pharmaceuticals, the moment that your fly disappears in a spray of water and explosion of sound is one that you must experience firsthand to truly understand, and one that you will spend the rest of your life trying to recapture. After the last few years, we will gladly forego DOZENS of subsurface fish for a single player on top. Yes, we are now officially Damaged Goods when it comes to steelhead fishing...

Dry Fly or Die.

We had one epic day of skating where we raised a PILE of fish (20, give or take a few) during the change-of-light hours on both ends of the day - still trying to process some of the mental images from that day. 2 takedowns in one cast, a loooong ways apart? Seen it. A steelhead vee-waking into shore, chasing a stripped skater? Yep. A fish cartwheeling out of the water while chasing your offering? Mm-hmm.

Not sure if that day will ever be equaled, but it will live on in our brain for awhile. One of the dance partners from the epic-nocity.

Mike D's big bucky, on the Mo-fly

Angry little buck that took and fought like he was much bigger. We took his picture out of respect.

Love in the rocks.

The last good cast, during a lull in "The Sunday Hurricane".

Our 14 days of wandering the desert is over, and we stagger back to civilization with the help of the torch of enlightenment from our travels.

Did we learn anything from this years' walkabout?

We're pretty sure we did, but we won't know for certain for another 334 days.

Housekeeping...

2010-11-04T13:34:00.000-07:00

After 3 years, we finally got around to putting up a new header pic. The old one was getting a little dusty, and after a few folks told us that they recognized the location in that particular picture, we decided it was best to remove it from the innerwebs...easier than killing said folks.

Enjoy the new one.

RoadTrip '10 v5 Recap, Box Score.

2010-10-31T12:02:00.000-07:00

Life-altering events are a rare commodity, and for a good reason.

Can you imagine how discombobulating it would be to have your worldview negated on a regular basis? All the things you were led to believe suddenly don't apply...welcome to swinging for big trout in Bristol Bay.

They aren't migrating to spawn. They aren't conserving energy to wait for a mate. They feed like ravenous wolverines. Given the right conditions and the right presentation, they will chase a fly for a good 15 feet before trying to take it from you. The water they sit in is called "class III" by kayakers.

As a steelheader, we have gotten into the long habit of looking downstream while we fish. Channeling the fish, we let our eyes track the best path up the river, the easiest passage with the best escape routes. We linger on certain buckets and wells that look fishy, and we assign percentages to bits of water. single-cast the low percentage water, thoroughly cover the high percentage water...

This is where the Bbay trout guys laugh their asses off.

These fish come downstream (DOWNSTREAM) to feed. Simple as that. Wherever the food is, that's where you find the fish. Where you find the fish, there is a good chance that Walter will be lurking nearby. On the big river, the observant guy looks upstream at what might be funneling food into a particular stretch, or fishes below a grinder, the big rockpiles that smash the bejeesus out of the ubiquitous Sockeye carcasses.

Enough about theory...our worldview has been altered significantly, and we're still trying to process most of the experience into rational, cogent thought.

The following is a non-chronological journey through the surreal world of Bristol Bay, AK, deep in the heart of fall. For the most part, we will let the pics tell the story, but some of them might require a little in the way of explanation so a fella can wrap his or her brain around the image.

The Scenery

While we got a little 38° sun filtered through the clouds, most mornings started off at or below freezing, with a jet-boat ride through a windtunnel while wearing 5 to 7 layers of fleece and down underneath your shell layer...Crazy, but worth the payoff.

Sockeye - the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. All things depend upon the salmon for life in Bristol Bay.

The Wildlife

Sockeye = Bears.

A fella could get a little nervous around the brown fuzzy anglers, but it wouldn't do much good. They're in their own house, you are a guest, the best you can do is give them some distance and marvel at the sheer single-mindedness with which they approach their caloric uptake.

Most of the time, they are indifferent to your presence. A fella can fish through during naptime, or sneak a fish out above their hole...they don't seem to care.

Occasionally, they get a little close. Or they go snorkeling through a patch of huge trout...Just like they do to each other, you gotta let 'em know that cool is cool, uncool buttheadedness won't be tolerated.

Big. Ass. Trout. The real reason to be in the Bay in October. A few from the little water.

Bycatch on the big water

Cookiecutters

Perfect

26"-28"...smash and grab artists. Bring steelhead gear, 'cause they will seriously mess up your little trout twig.

Sasquatch and a nice 28", picked out of our back pocket.

Same bucket, different passes

The fish we came for.

31somethin X 18somethin'...3 casts after a 28" took us for a ride. No, this is not a steelhead. It is about 16lbs of Wild AK Rainbow Love on the Swung Fly.

About 50 yards downstream and 45 minutes later...

Crumptastic: "Hey, reel up, let's go get that smooth grease upstream."
Us: "Ok, but first lemme peel off a few more pulls and yank that 30" out from behind that rock over there..."

2 casts later...30 X 18+. On a called shot.

It will take us a while to get used to this goofy new worldview. Like the kid in the youtube dentist video, we find ourselves occasionally staring off in space and wondering if this is real life, if we're gonna be this way forever.

Not sure if we'll ever get back, but we won't ever forget the time we spent there.

Not sure we could if we wanted to.

T minus 11 hours, 57 minutes, 14 seconds...

2010-10-10T20:53:00.001-07:00

...That's when the nice ladies in the blue pantsuits are gonna be closing the door and securing the cabin, and you know what that means, right...?

Only 10 more minutes until we can get our first bloody mary of the day.

Well, we're not sure where to start here. RoadTrip '10 v5 has been over for 5 days, but the aftershocks have been persistent and more than a bit unsettling. Sure, we got our fleece laundered and the trout gear switched out for steelhead gear ( read: we took out the big ugly flies and replaced them with little dainty flies...same twigs, fisha), but every now and then we would find ourselves just sorta spacing out, eyes focused on nothing, seeing merely the past play back on the IMAX screen of the brain...

But we're not letting that get in the way of having a good time, because RoadTrip '10 v6 commences in less than 12 hours. We got us one o' them spiffy blue leather seats up near the front of the plane on account of us flyin around the globe all the time to look for fish, so we're gonna take full advantage of the 2 drink minimum - 1200 air-miles to kill the jitters and wiggle our way into a 15-day groove on the smoove grease.

It's time, fellas. Drink up, and we're off to the airport.

RoadTrip Season

2010-09-22T17:17:00.000-07:00

Time, fellas.

RoadTrip '10 v5 is upon us, and not a moment too soon. We have been dealing in drama and stress like hard currency all summer, and it is time to take a breather, get on a good grease slick with the rocket stick and drop into the fish trance again. In 139 hours, 36 minutes, and 55 seconds, we will be sittin' in a big leather seat up in the front of one of Mac McGee's fine planes, the one with the eskimo on the tail, pondering the landscape and idly stirring a fine mixed beverage while we speed the hell away from the rat race for a week.

When we touch down, all systems are go for 6 days of wicked good swingin' with K8 and Crumptastic (sorry 'bout the hotlink, E&B), knee-deep and sideways in one of the greatest big 'bow flows in the world.

Been slaving at the vise for a few nights, covered in bunny and arctic fox fuzz, muttering incoherently and waving half-formed ideas around in a little dish of water. We're pretty sure we got a handle on the situation, but the nagging voice of self-doubt is always nattering away, making sure we tie at least a few more with the heads just so, or some with that funky color spot that worked so well this spring...

6 days in the big leagues. After that, home for a decompression and laundry stop, then off for 15 days on RoadTrip '10 v6, Steelhead edition.

Can't wait, fisha.

Dreams of fishes

2010-08-04T19:00:00.000-07:00

Remember when we still fished? You know, back then in the spring, before it got kinda busy at work?

Yeah.

Fun times.

We miss that too.

At any rate, we have been behind the curve lately with work and assorted stuff, so...sorry. We'll try not to go another postless month.

In other news, we are now the proud owner of a bamboo rod. No, NOT the type that the Wife uses to stake the peas, but a real, honest-to-dog handcrafted bamboo rod. Not sure what came over us, but when the chance came by we couldn't pass it up - it was a hell of a deal, too. Matter of fact, it would have been more expensive to get a plane ticket down to the lower 48 just to steal this thing out of the shop...at any rate, we were made an offer that we couldn't refuse, and we didn't.

"Parabolic 16" is the taper type, and we won't argue. We're not exactly sure what a parabolic taper is (and we're pretty sure that most folks that use the word "parabolic" when talking about fish poles don't know, either...it just sounds expert), but we do know that it will throw the hell out of a flyline. 2 pieces, agate stripper guide, 8 dainty feet and one inch, with a nicely carved locking-ring reelseat.

As it turns out, the universe does not explode if you throw a plastic line with a bamboo rod. Things get a little wobbly, but the whole mishmash of space-time doesn't seem change much. We decided to push our luck an' see if we could fish with a bead on a bamboo rod...dunno, mebbe time would cease to exist, pigs would fly, Sarah Palin would be taken seriously... something like that.

In the end, things went just fine. Matter of fact, it seemed like we caught MORE fish that evening...piscine word got out that some dude had a pretty twig that you would just LOVE to see.

Eat your heart out, Tradition.

The Hard Way

2010-06-25T10:41:00.000-07:00

After a long drive and a short boat ride, we returned to our latest folly. A few nights a week have been spent way the hell out here, donating our pound of flesh, only to lose the single fish we seem to hook every trip.

We were beginning to wonder if it was the same fish, over and over, sent by his buddies with the sole intention of messing with our head...

"You see that guy? He's been up there for HOURS...Larry, go bite his fly."

"Why do I gotta do it? I don't wanna."

"Don't worry, Larry. Just put up a good fight for about 10 minutes, then throw the hook. Just like last time."

A fella can get a little delusional, standing in a cloud of no-see-ums so thick you can't breathe through your nose. We imagine these little conversations that the fish are having, we ponder pointless questions (does our hippie bug spray really work, or does it just make hippies feel good?), and we generally zone out. The steps come, even though they aren't necessary. By force of habit, the "cast one, step two" happens, part of the now-ingrained ritual. Strip, step, set, huck. Move, mend, mind off.

We're pretty sure that the bugs don't bother us much because they think we might be dead. Slow the pulse down, don't wave and shoo them like a little girl, breath slowly and sort of shallow...let them cloud around you, but don't react. It's tough, but when you are in the fish trance it sorta comes naturally.

Each and every cast has a grab in it, somewhere. That's the way you fish it.

When that grab comes, all hell breaks loose, even though you were expecting it. The next quarter-hour becomes a dance in which you feel woefully undermatched, a bumbling spastic with two left feet trying to follow the lead of a fish with more slick moves than Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. These fish don't wear out, they seem more to give in, and their blistering runs after bumping their belly on the gravel are ample reminders that this isn't playing, this is a fight.

If you have said your mantras, washed behind your ears, and lived right, you might land your fish. More often, you will make a few mistakes and eventually the fish will swim free. If you do it right, there is a moment in the fight where your dance partner seems to offer itself up to you, a temporary lapse in the will of the fish, a recognition of a worthy adversary. Do not squander these moments.

When it is all over, you feel the flood of relief, an abdication of the stress of the dance. Dispatch comes quickly and with respect...remember, this is meat you are making. The proper rituals are observed, the fish is made comfortable, and once again you submerge below the surface, into the fish trance.

Post-Trip Depression Disorder.

2010-06-16T12:17:00.000-07:00

*sigh*

RoadTrip '10 v4 is now in the books, and we're not really sure if things are ever gonna be the same again.

110 hours on the big river, and we got our fish on for damn near 70 of them. Thanks to Major Tom, we had a spiffy cabin with a 2-burner AND a 2-holer, plus a beer-holding thingy and a nice comfy chair. We also got the 1760 with the 60 Etec, which is a pretty skookum setup even though it steers like a wounded cow in the slightest crosswind. Once we got the Narwhal to not lean all over the boat when we were in delicate low-water channels, things were good.

Our chapped and sunburnt head is healing nicely, thanks...only a few more days and we may be able to take the bandages off and not look like Joe Merrick on a bad shaving day. We are regaining the weight that we lost on our 800 calorie diet, and the taste of Rainier is just now leaving our fuzzy tongue.

We have 107 days to fully heal, 'cause that's when we're goin' back.

Flies of distinction:

the SmoltySnack - The murder weapon when doing the dead-drift to swing that the big fish like. The biggest fish we landed chewed on this fly, and a few other hoggish specimens that we did not get to meet fin to face also took liberties with it as well.

the Feeding Tube - Not just lean n' mean, this fly is skinny and pissed. Good for choppier, faster water where profile and color matter more than detail.

the Neil Creek Slider - 142% badass skater. Quarter it downstream, make a nice upstream mend, chug it a little, and hold the hell on. Although you get a lot of players, this isn't the fly to fish if you want a high take/land ratio...Still fun as hell to raise fish with, tho - check out the teeth marks.

the Darkness - Full and wiggly underwater, comes out with t-10 like it was shot out of a cannon, this is the future.

King game is on now, dollies soon to come...but our head is still stuck in the Northland, and we have just over 3 months til we go get it back.

Can't wait, fisha.

Time, fellas.

2010-06-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

91 hours, 44 minutes and 28 seconds.

That's when RoadTrip '10 v4 kicks off...not like we're counting, anyways.

After weeks and weeks of preparation, hours of fly-tying, and entire days spent fiddling with gear, the time is now upon us. We're pretty sure we got everything, and now all there is left to do is to wait. And lemme tell you, we suck at waiting.

All we can think about is fish. Big fish.

5 days of swinging huge flies to huge trout, huckin' smolt into massive boils, and skipping sliders over tailouts to waiting mouths.

The flies are done, the lines coiled, the rods packed...only 91 hours, and it will take every ounce of willpower we have to not go insane with the wait.

Things not to do, and the Places not to do them.

2010-05-19T12:02:00.000-07:00

The "Annual Spring Freakout" is over, a bit prematurely, and not for voluntary reasons.

Monday found us on a long boat ride with T, and after a bumpy and wet approach we were happily zoomin' up a river that was rumored to have fin. Not a hiking-friendly flow, this river is fast, high-gradient, full of logjams, slippery, and sports no trails on its brushy-as-hell banks - folks of lesser constitution generally don't see the better holes on the river.

About a mile upriver from high tide, the logjams start to wear on a fella. T had hooked a nice fish low in the system, and the prospect of "greener grass" kept us pounding through chin-high vaccinium and gnarly devil's club thickets.

We finally reached our limit...the best-lookin' water in the whole river was now downstream of us, and there was nothing but pain and misery on the docket if we chose to forge ahead upstream. Being the sensible types we are, we turned around and started down.

One of the beautiful pools, and the scene of the crime...

That's when it happened.

The dirt barely covering an upended rootwad that we were crossing decided to give way while we were on it. At this point, the options were pretty slim - fall to the right onto the rootwad, mebbe bust a rib or flip over and land upside down, or fall to the left feetfirst about 6 ft and hope we landed safely.

We went left, and we didn't land safely. The familiar "POP" sound from the ankle, and we knew that we had torn the bejeezus out of the ligaments. We yelled the appropriate expletives for awhile, then reassured T that he wouldn't need to carry us out of the woods (tho he was and is more than capable), we could probably make it to the boat - it would suck, and it would hurt like hell, but we could get there. T cut a wading stick, we laced our left boot up as tight as it would go, and started down.

The view for the next mile and a half, more or less.

Long story short, we got out of the woods. It wasn't pretty, and we probably didn't help the injury much, but after a few hours we were at the boat and got the first aid kit out.

We visited the sawbones today and according to the doc, we are the proud new owner of a grade III sprain. Not our first, so we happened to have the air-cast and braces handy and put them to good use.

Now, only 19 days to recover. We'll let you know why soon enough.

BTW - gifts, get-well cards, and beer are standard tokens of sympathy...not for our ankle, but because we can't fish for 3 weeks.

We'll expect some soon, dammit.

We got your click and pawl right here, jack.

2010-04-16T12:53:00.000-07:00

Y'all have probably heard our stance on tradition, so we won't repeat it. But you prolly haven't heard that we HATES clickyclicky reels. Detests. Loathes. Right up there with yelling "Fish On!" in anything but an ironic manner - and then only amongst friends - or typing "Tight Lines" on innerweb message boards.

Anything that makes a racket is right out, and if our attempts to silence the reel will result in the reel not working, then we don't get it.

Every now and then, we have to make exceptions to this rule - but when we break it, the reel should sound like the purring mechanism of a fine timepiece, not some crazed French-Canadian lumberjack hopped up on meth.

Until a few days ago, we had only broken our "no dumb-sounding, Hey-Everybody-I-Got-A-Fish reels" a few times -Abel super 10 double-pawls can't be click free, but they RULE king salmon, and the Ari t'Hart triangles are just too sexy to mind that little whirring noise they make. Besides, both of those reels (and the sexy little Nautilus NV we picked up last year) are comparatively quiet, so while you might hear them close up, they don't fill the canyon with the strains of what sounds like a pile of screwing cats on acid.

So, we went and did it again. New twig, we figured, needs a new line-winder. That sexy little fish pole in the post below NEEDS a new reel, and some cat-scratch, cement-truck-sounding, "Traditional" Made in Korea reel wasn't gonna fit the bill.

Behold, the NV 10/11 G-8.

Holds fly string nicely, glints in the sunlight provocatively, has tolerances that would make an engineer heady with lust, and doesn't make any unacceptable noises.

Comin' up on less than 2 weeks, kids.

Can you feel it?

New Twig, installment #37

2010-04-08T16:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we took delivery of one we've been waiting on for awhile.

Of all the two-handed twigs we have hucked in the past few years, the 6126 is the king...dunno why, but most of the 6126's that we pick up just FEEL right, with a few notable exceptions. One of those exceptions is a major rod-maker (name starts with an S) with a light-green 6126 that for some reason we just can't feel the love in - but most others, we're down with. Up until last night, our go-to 6126 was the Beulah Platinum, a sweet stick if there ever was one. Tip-light, stiff enough to move line without a lot of oomph but soft enough to let you feel it in between the hands when you are groovin', and with a very fast recovery for those tight little underhand loops.

That was then, this is now.

Went and hucked it around a little with MoneyMike before we were snowed off the crick...let's just say that with a custom 36' 430gr long-taper and about 18' of leader, you need an out-of-state license to fish this twig.

This doesn't mean we're putting the Beulah out to pasture, mind you. That twig is hard to beat for tip-work on most fish under 15lbs or so, and with a chopped Tonic 23 1/2' 450gr and about 13' of t-11, there ain't a whole lot of effort required to fish flies the size of small farm animals all day.

20 days to game-time, kids.

Can't wait.

2010-03-30T11:52:00.000-07:00

Once again above the 50th parallel.

The household is experiencing a slight case of 19°31'51"N, 156°00'48"W withdrawal - seems like everything needs a little toasted coconut and some fresh fruit to make it good, and drinks just don't seem to taste right without one of those teeny umbrellas in them. In our experience, this syndrome lasts a week or two, occasionally longer...depends on how much rain we're getting.

Not that there is time for moping around, you understand. Spring is on the way, and FolkFest is right around the corner...more on that later. Contractual obligations have us making public appearances for a few weeks, but after that, we're gonna be pretty damn hard to get ahold of. Word around the campfire is that the Annual Spring Freakout is gonna be a good one this year.

It's still raining, and our coconut coffee (Lion, brah...broke da mouf) is getting lukewarm, so check out some tropical scenes while we mug up.

Lava tree

We dig turtles.

Coconut "flower"

Did we mention that we dig turtles?

Are you sure?

Did we...nevermind.

This guy tried to sell me insurance out on the Lanai one day.

Ma's turtle

Aloha, mahalo nui loa

Runnin' on Empty

2010-03-12T12:58:00.000-08:00

Home is a nebulous concept these days.

Since January 5th, we have been "home" for a grand total of 19 days. "Home" in quotes, because at times we felt quite at home while on the road, most often whilst standing knee-deep in a coastal flow and holding a flyrod. RoadTrip '10 v1.0, 2.0, 2.1, and 3.0 are now complete - some of it will linger for awhile in the memory, and some of it we couldn't get rid of fast enough...if you ever read this, Bangkok, we're talkin' about you.

At any rate, we are back home for the time being, trying to get acquainted with the cute chick that hangs out here (she says she already knows us...whatev). 52 days of mostly bad-for-you food, 52 days of not-your-own-bed, 52 days of what-smells-funny rental cars, 52 days of being abnormally polite and courteous is a hard stench to scrub off, but in this case we got a pretty good brush and soap combo comin' up in about 72 hours.

That's right, kids. RoadTrip '10 v4.0 is up next. 8 days at 19°31'51"N, 156°00'48"W with the nice older couple we used to live with, and with any luck we can get the cute chick that hangs around here to go, too. First class there and back, drinks with tiny umbrellas, sand, sun...That's what we're talkin' about. Word around the campfire is that the Costco over there has a bitchin' poke bar and the cheapest booze on the chain - you can bet that we'll be putting those rumors to the test.

184 hours to put the last 52 days behind us. It ain't gonna be easy, but someone has to do it.

'Ike 'oukou kaka'ikahi pule, haoles.

It's Officially Official.

2010-02-22T12:48:00.000-08:00

After answering an ad in the hot new flyfishing rag "Lifestyles of the Stumbly Dirtbags", we gots us a new job. Following an interview in pidgin Swahili and a grueling, 7-minute training session, we are the new, official Shop-Floor-Sweeper, Moose-Nose-Wiper, Casher-of-Forged-Checks, and Junior-Dirtbag-in-Training over at BWTF.

How will this affect our relationship, you might ask?

We're still gonna post over here, and we're still gonna get our food and music on. This one hasn't run its course yet.

But a change of pace is always an OK thing, and we're pretty sure that things are gonna work out just fine.

Sushi Party box scores.

2010-02-19T16:35:00.000-08:00

Apparently, we were mistaken in our assumption that this year's Sushi Party™ was the 10th annual celebration of the Gonger's birfday...we were told in no uncertain terms by several people that were certainly and reliably stoned to the gills that this was, in fact, only the 9th time this celebration had occurred. Our bad.

At any rate, Tout le Juneau came out for the throwdown, and we did our best to get a little strange and push out the accepted boundaries of what goes in sushi. The surprise hit of the year (to everybody else but us) was bacon, followed closely by pineapple, kimchi, and mango.

C'mon, people. Bacon goes with everything.

Images from an evening of gourmet chaos.

When starting out a hectic, beer- and sake-filled evening of rolling sushi, it is best to remember just what the hell you are doing in the first place. Several of these got scrapped, but the Mermaid is one of the best combinations we have ever come up with.

A half-Chinese guy and a Scandinavian mutt, about to throw down some sushi love.

The aforementioned Mermaid, with the addition of avocado.

Spider roll fodder, pre-tempura.

Squid, mixed with squid, stuffed in squid...the Ika-Ika.

In the thick of things.

The first dessert that worked - banana in coconut rice, wrapped in soypaper, topped with caremelized sugar. How could it NOT be good?

Aftermath.

We got some good stuff out of this year's session, and there are some new ideas sloshin' around in the braincase for next year's throwdown...

But you're gonna hafta wait until then to know what they are.

RoadTrip '10 v2.0

2010-01-26T10:50:00.000-08:00

Once again, we be off.

This time 'round, first stop is beautiful downtown Puyallup, WA, for the Sportsman's Show at the fairgrounds - 5 days of bugling elk, barking dogs, and chaw-stained NASCAR-lookin' walleye fishing shirts. Booth #558 will be home for the duration, so stop by and say hi if you are in the general vicinity.

Plans of a coastal nature have been hatched with Ratbone, with the nascent rumblings of a midnight drive followed by much beer consumption, snap casting, and a smattering of rowing.

Gig Harbor WA is next on the itinerary, for a 2-night stand at the Tides Tavern. Check out the poster, peeps.

Off to Stumptown for SupaBowl weekend, with a possible Diggler - HoJo sighting/rendezvous in the mix. Fishing, naturally, is de rigeur, and overtures of the piscine sort have been made to both Bacon and Hickman...ball is in your court, fellas.

Killer K and J-Po, both Stumptown clowns formerly of Juneau, are on the radar as well. Killer K is gettin' his escuela on, so we figure a tidy break with a half-day piscine biathlon is in order... Not sure what the PoPo is up to, but we're pretty sure we'll get that sorted over beers one night. More "Red Gold" showing is on the plate, but the time and place is YTBD.

Yard' (not 'yard) gave us a whistle with the intent on fishing down OR way...you know it, fella. Give us a bell on the mobby, mang.

...And after the interlude, it's back to work in the salt mines of the Portland sportsman's show. 5 more days of RealTree, UglyStik, Bob's best catfish bloodbait, and big hair.

See you in a few weeks, kids.

Refugia

2010-01-21T17:44:00.000-08:00

RoadTrip '10 v1.0/1.1 is now over, and with a little luck, we can get our laundry done in time for v2.0, which commences in 114:21:39.

We hung around in the Centennial State for a few days after the ISE show and were fortunate enough to hook up with some like-minded citizens of the fin, folks that didn't mind showing a few of their locals to a fella that doesn't normally see flowing water in the winter. The idea of catching trout in January is something we can get behind, even if it does involve extended air travel.

Fortified by a bitchin' chicken-fried steak from the Breakfast Queen, we drug our sea-level-acclimatized carcass across what seemed to be a minor Himalayan pass on the way to a funky little flow that our man Slave had designated as the target du jour. It took us awhile to get into the feel of things, 'cause sz26 flies aren't really part of our vocabulary, but we got into the groove just in time to say hi to a new friend from the mountains.

The Killer Fuzzball, makin' sure we get it done proper.

Day 2 was spent brownlining in the industrial district, dodging various unidentified floating objects and trying not to scrape the flesh of any body parts we might need in the future against the rebar-and-asphalt-infested riprap. Throwing flies that looked as if they were wiped off of something rather than hatched, we stumbled around under the various bridges and graffiti-covered revetments that constitute the riparian habitat of our quarry. Wooly was the first to break the seal, hookin' up with a nice specimen in the Tetanus Hole. We followed suit soon after, landing our first intentional flyrod carp, and Slave tightened up the formation by landing a Rocky Mountain Bone of his own. A few fishless holes later, and the siren song of beer and barbecue forced us into retirement.

Wooly, payin' arm-service to our carp.

But that was then and this is now, as they say. A few more loads of laundry, a quick repacking session, then it's off to the PNW for a few shows. As is the standard, we will be totin' a few twigs along for the ride. Word around the campfire is that Ratbone has a new raft he needs to test out and a shoulder in need of rehab, so we're planning on holdin' down pointy-end duties on an as-yet unnamed river in WA...and in a weird, masochistic way, we're sorta lookin' forward to getting duct-taped into a mummy bag and thrown in the back of Bacon's truck again for another ride to the fabled flows of Beatdown Territory.

Here today, WA / OR in a few days. RoadTrip '10 v2.0, kids.

It's what keeps winter interesting.

Another one in the Books

2009-12-31T15:56:00.000-08:00

Random Thoughts and Impressions from 2009, minus about 31,893 words.

Tramp..This picture always makes us laugh.

This one always makes us cry.

2009.

We wouldn't trade it, but we don't really want it back, neither.

See you next year.

Happy Christmahaunakwanzaakah, again.

2009-12-23T16:16:00.000-08:00

The Yule Season crept up on us this year, only to leap out of the bushes a few days ago to shout "Surprise!" at our startled countenance.

Happy Holidays? In 2 days? Really? C'mon, man...thanksgiving was like, what...a week ago?

Sure enough, it is Christmahaunakwanzaakah again, and like most arbitrary days of celebration based on highly improbable acts (see also: Easter) and only recently co-opted and corrupted by commercial interests and the materialist mentality, we could care less.

Truth be told, we don't cotton much to the gift gettin' n givin' process- if we need it, we go get it, and if we just "want" it, odds are that it is a pretty specific (or obscure) item. Shopping for others is another layer of stress altogether, but we bottled up our inner grinch long enough to get some nice presents for the Wife, if only so she sticks around for another year.

The one good thing about the holiday season is the gatherings, and if some folks need it as an excuse to loosen up a little, neck back some 'nog, and give the old lady a christmas goose, then we're okay with that.

As it turns out, we don't need too many excuses to celebrate life, family, and friends.

If you just have to free your inner elf, send all your offerings and tidings of joy to 58°19'59"N 134°29'49"W ...Ho ho ho, dammit.

Take II

2009-12-10T12:37:00.000-08:00

More from the C:/user/photos/fall file.

December is the annual and traditional "mental vacation" month here at the Neil Creek Estate. Not much goes on in the darkest month, and not much is asked of us, so we generally just shuffle around the mansion in our underwear, clutching a cup of coffee and absently rubbing our stubble-covered phiz...by the way, that last word? It doesn't mean what you think it means.

We're sure there are folks that view us as a lazy, shiftless, no-good-for-nothin' because we get up at the crack of 9:30, lounge around all day on various couches, then drink beer all evening as if we have accomplished something worthwhile.

Our reply to those folks is, "Well, someone has to do it."

So far, the vacation has been going swimmingly. We come out of it every now an then to read emails, make ramen, and bathe, but other than that, we're pretty content with the way things have been progressing.

2010 is shaping up to be a busy one. With dates in DEN, SFO, SEA, PDX, OAK, LGB, and KOA, the Neil Creek RoadShow has a full dance card for the rest of the winter. Appropriate plans will be made withe the appropriate folks for rendez-vous during the peregrinations, but right now we're too busy relaxing to think about all of that.

Only 25 more days of staycation...coffee, anyone?

Scenes from Fall, take I

2009-12-03T11:56:00.000-08:00

With the onset of winter, a fella can't help but reminisce a little about the past year. The freshets and fish of fall have been replaced by the snow and grumbling of "the longest season", the endless pub crawl, the days of 361 channels and nothing to watch. When you can't possibly tie another fly, or fiddle with gear any more, and the next trip is months away, sometimes solace can be found in the land of C:/user/photos.

Some randomness from Fall, salve for the wound, balm for the soul.

T minus 762:37:19 'til RoadTrip '10 v1.0, kids.

Can't wait.

Settling in, kinda

2009-11-22T22:59:00.000-08:00

Back from the outside.

Things are pretty much as we left them, minus the greenhouse which ended up in the neighbor's driveway during a big blow...and the cover for the Neil Creek Yacht, which crapped out during the same storm.

And the heater, an old Monitor 422 that finally gave up the ghost.

Did we mention the cover for the upper deck at the Estate yet? No? Well, it is in need of finishing too.

Damn.

Oh well, these things happen. We're about 4.6 inches away from getting the new heater in, and as soon as we figure out how to get 2 right-angle bends (with flares) in a 9" chunk of 3/8" copper tubing AND get it wedged into a 5"x2"x3" space, things will be better...not to mention warmer.

The trip to the Outside went well, all things considered. The traffic on I-35 - actually, damn near ALL of the Austin / Dallas corridor - still sucks, and it still rains all winter in Seattle, but at least the company was OK. The nice older couple that we used to live with is doing well, and the other relatives seem to be holding their own.

Sunshine is an underrated thing, and after eating and drinking in a lot of it this trip, we can see what all the fuss is about.

The Wife and the Chick, bonding over Tex-Mex.

We pretty much ditched the camera for the rest of the trip, which is a shame because otherwise we could have let you in on a wide panoply of scenes, like Wally in a fit of beer-fueled brownline bliss, Rathbun and spouse grooving on home-surgery videos, and B² totin' his beloved J-smolt around Clark and Anil's place. As it stands, we're sorta sure you might not have wanted to see at least 2 of these 3 things.

For now, we're settling in to minor repairs at the Palace and playing with the new addition to the family, which we will get to in due time. Whether we like it or not, winter is here, and we're not quite ready for it yet.

File Under: Can't Wait

2009-11-06T13:21:00.000-08:00

The vacation is going swimmingly, thanks.

Yes, the weather is hot, the beer is still cold, and the Mex and 'cue are still pretty bitchin'.

We did, however, receive an email from Señor Rathbun over at the Chum, the contents of which we consider too pressing to wait until we are safely ensconced back in front of our own Babbage engine.

Since WA has been on the greatest hits list these last few years, not to mention the fact that we go back on a bi-yearly basis to visit that nice older couple we used to live with, this one is a little close to the vitals for us. If you fish for steelhead in WA, please take the time to answer these three multiple-choice questions...wild WA steelhead need a show of love here, even from you "brownline" weirdos that only dabble in the sickness.

Resuming radio silence...see you in 14 days, kids.

On The Road, Again.

2009-11-02T15:01:00.000-08:00

RoadTrip '09 v4 has snuck up and ambushed us. A mere 8 days after returning from RT'09 v3, we are once again packing a bag and preparing to be harassed by surly airline flunkies on our way Outside. The chance of fishing on this trip is about 8-13%, but we will be able to visit with a few choice folks from the fish-crazy camp on our peregrinations - we will once again be eatin' Mex with FlyFishChick on her home turf, downing beers with Wally at his favorite seedy dive, and trying to keep Ratbone from stealing cheesy posters glued above urinals in trashy neo-retro hipster hangouts.

While we dislike complaining about the weather, we couldn't have picked a better time to go outside. Quick comparisons for the betting folks...

Here:

TUESDAY...RAIN AND SNOW LIKELY IN THE MORNING...
THEN RAIN LIKELY IN THE AFTERNOON.
SNOW ACCUMULATION UP TO 1 INCH. HIGHS AROUND 39.
LIGHT WINDS. CHANCE OF PRECIPITATION 70 PERCENT.

There:

Tuesday: Sunny, with a high near 76. Calm wind becoming
northeast between 5 and 10 mph.

Smart money has us in shorts and tevas by Wednesday afternoon, a cold Carta Blanca in one hand and a fistful of good 'cue in the other.

See you in 16 days, kids.

Slight Return

2009-10-27T17:29:00.000-07:00

RoadTrip '09 v3 has come to a close, and it's about damn time - we only have 6 days left to prep for RoadTrip '09 v4.

At any rate, here are some quick numbers on v3 for the factoid crowd...don't laugh, you know who you are.

1830 air miles.
1722 road miles.
13 days.
3 states.
4 flows.
9337 calories consumed, resulting in
14 lbs lost.
41 ft. of running line lost.
226 ft. of tippet material used.
82 flies lost,
58 of those on fish.
142 mule deer encountered on road,
3 nearly "rentalized".
13277433 mice,
4 of which WERE rentalized.
2 pairs of blown-out waders.
61 fish raised to dry flies, of which
9 were landed.
89 bighorn fishing partners.
92465 cockleburrs stuck to our fleece.
3 days that it blew 30+mph.
1 broken rod.
4 "near-wet" experiences.
1 swimming trip.
145 hours of zen-like calm, coupled with
116 hours of blissful idiotic grinning.

The numbers we can only estimate?

2, maybe 3 cubic yards of fish landed.
Many, many grabs...on top, on tips, on drylines...
Many, many dance partners.
Tons of smiling.
Miles of casts.
Acres and acres of water covered.

Images from the field-

One of the big rivers.

Looking down the end of the canyon.

One river had piles of these guys.

Fuzzy dance partners.

Last light in the canyon.

Flies of Distinction-

This started life as a hackled leech, but the fish wouldn't leave it well enough alone...funny thing, though - the more chewed-up it got, the better it worked.

The Dark Prince, a sz12 morsel to be flung out and trusted.

The Swingin' Prince. You will now be shot, for you have seen too much.

Semi-traditional, and chewed on.

Yes, that is a foam skater, and yes, those ARE teeth-marks.

As for pics of the anadromously inclined dance partners, well...we didn't take but 3 or 4, and only of one buff lady we had a thing with for a few minutes. She was nice enough to stick around for a bit and discreet enough to stay out of the way, so we reeled up and watched her for awhile, just to make sure she was gonna get home alright.

In the end, she went her way and we went ours, and we like to think that we were both somehow better for the experience.

Many dance partners, many casts, many steps, many rocks, many rivers, many runs - as with all trips, the moment you leave the flow, it starts to run together in your mind. Features blur and spaces condense until there is nothing left but the dancers, 2 partners in recombinant iterations to represent the time passed. Many forms of quantification pale and become invalid in this light but there is one that remains-

347 days, 17 hours, and 34 minutes until we get to do it again.

Outta Here.

2009-10-10T09:49:00.000-07:00

We're off.

What started as a weekend trip with the Old Man has metastasized into a semi-annual 2 week hajj to the old stomping grounds of the PNW, and we're about to get devout. 3 hours 'til the plane, and then we're going incommunicado for 15 days.

No phone, no email, no nothin'.

We wouldn't want it any other way.

Don't forget to feed the fish, turn out the lights after you leave, and make sure the door is locked...we'll see you in a few weeks.

Ramen: A Love Story.

2009-10-07T16:01:00.000-07:00

It is no secret that we loves us some Ramen.

Lately we have been streamlining the Breakfast of Champions a skosh, trying for the zen perfection in simplicity. Gone are the accessory chiles, away went the scallions, bye-bye ginger...now that we have homemade kimchi, we don't need to mess around with that stuff in the AM. Just the basic food groups combined, thank you very much.

If there is something that is better without bacon, we don't want to eat it.

Home-made 99 44/100ths % pure love.

We love microwaves...the 31 second egg.

Add a little chopped basil, cilantro, and some fish sauce...

...The Eternal Breakfast.

Prep continues for RoadTrip '09 v3 - about 7 dozen more flies to go.

Can't wait, Fisha.

Code Twelve, One Rainbow Four - Do You Copy?

2009-09-27T21:30:00.000-07:00

Mostly done editing. Not quite all the way finished with some of they arty shots, but what the hell. You're gonna get what we have because we're pretty sure that after last week, the anadromous fish population of this flow has an APB out on us and we don't wanna stay in one place too long.

Paddy was nice enough to loan us a cool fisheye lens for the duration, and although we haven't officially asked him yet, we're angling to take it on RoadTrip '09 v3 as well - which would be cool, seeing as how we don't think we could sell enough blood and assorted bodily fluids in the next week to afford one of these bad larrys for ourselves.

Narwhal and Drifter were excellent company as usual, and with the exception of the first night's random photos of dirt and leaves ("Push harder, dude...Yes, THAT button."), he proved an able lensman and capably brave in the face of a charging turkey sandwich, no mayo.

Once on the river, we were all business...ok, not really. But we went down that thing like we had a mask and a gun. No nook, no cranny, no side-channel was safe with us around. Armed with a 4-year-old can of bear spray and a net, we got into places that the bears didn't even wanna be.

At any rate, here's the goods from RoadTrip '09 v2.2. To get in the appropriate mood, a Fisha might wanna open a beer and crank up a little Parliament/Funkadelic to fully capture the moment...then again, maybe that's just us.

Every now and then, the plane flies over things that don't have clouds over them.

The fine folks in the 1st class section were nice enough to provide us with many of these tasty scenery-enhancing beverages.

Ready to rumble.

This guy jumped into a tree. Really.

Narwhal on the sticks.

Three from the Giving Tree.

Cheering section.

The MoneyBucket was good to us - when we could keep 'em from going around the rootwad. 2 casts, 2 dance partners.

Sunrise, day 4.

The always-amusing game of "Feed the Starving Dog".

23° and fishy.

The fish we came for.

Back-channel dirty love.

More back-channel dirty love.

The Last Good Cast.

The last night.

RoadTrip '09 v2.2 is now closed. Frantic preparations have begun for v3 in the form of matériel acquisition and massive amounts of fly-tying, but every now and then we sit still, close our eyes, and dream of last week's dance partners.

We wouldn't want it any other way.

In the Bag

2009-09-26T18:50:00.000-07:00

RoadTrip '09 v2.2 is officially in the bag.

We got back to town a few days ago, just in time for that minor annoyance called work. Even an inconvenience like that was not enough to dim the light emanating from within as we glowed with the satisfaction of being in the right place at the right time.

Let's just say that if you were fishin' the same thing we were fishin', you prolly did pretty damn good, too.

We're still editing - over 350 shots from 3 different cameras - but soon we'll manage to get it all in one place and put it to bed. In the meantime, we'll leave you with this.

No time to waste - only 13 days 'til RoadTrip '09 v3

Pins and Needles

2009-09-18T13:18:00.000-07:00

RoadTrip '09 v2.1 is scratched.

Work is an annoyance, but it pays for all the cool stuff we get to do in the 8 months we don't work. Sometimes, work and fun have conflicting schedules - anyone wanna guess which one wins out?

The first leg of v2.1 was to commence last Tuesday. After getting the news of a kink in the endgame work pattern, tickets were exchanged and funds re-funded towards RoadTrip '09 v3, the October Harvest Trip. We cried a little, but tried not to sniffle in public, and figured that if we couldn't get to fish the big river with Narwhal and Drifter this year, it wasn't meant to be.

Things started looking up last night.

With just 36 hours notice, we have a reprieve of 5 days.

RoadTrip '09 v2.2 is on, kids. We have been throwin' things in the washer and sorting through gear and painting beads like a house on fire. Less than 20 hour 'til the plane leaves, and we still have a pile of beads to cure, a mess of leaders to tie, and a few dozen flesh flies to whip up.

Just about there...Tomorrow at this time, one of these will be in the mouth of a finny friend at mile 81, river left.

Game on, kids.

See you in a week.

Shoulda been here last week, 1

2009-08-26T11:14:00.000-07:00

In case your cubicle isn't near a window or your link to the NWS -AK isn't working, here's some breaking news: Summer is over.

The latest high water episode is probably the stake in the heart for the last of the summer chums, sweeping out the debris for the arrival of the favorite son, the coho. We'll get excited about them soon enough, but there is still a little bit of the dolly fishin' to do. The time of the large is upon us, time to be meticulous about detail - orange and round can only get you so far. The big boys like their meals to come correct, and will give you nothin' but fin if you are fishing last week's shade in this week's water.

Matériel acquisition has commenced for RoadTrip '09 v2.1, D and the Narwhal ( or is it the Pinwhal?) are in the picture, as well as 6 days with Drifter the wonderdog. Word around the campfire is that the 2-hander will be the star in the Swinger's Ball all weekend, but we'll wait until plans firm up to get giddy.

Until then we'll be hunched over the vise, giggling maniacally and daydreaming about the ones that won't get away.

Shots from last week.

Brothers...or sisters. We didn't check.

One that didn't hear the Internet KnowItAlls advice that cutts don't eat beads.

...Aaaand another one that didn't hear the KnowItAlls proclamation that beads don't work when there are a lot of salmon eggs in the river.

Let the Coho games begin.

Act III, Intermission.

2009-08-14T18:23:00.000-07:00

Summer chums are about done...rather, the little hatchery rats that spawn in July and can't seem to grow bigger than 7lbs are done. The real chums, the fall fatties that spawn in November, are just beginning to show up to the parade ground.

Carcasses are piling up in flows all over SE, and the humpies that were bullied out of prime spawning gravel are now back at it, albeit slightly higher up the bar and in a little faster water. Meanwhile, the dollies have grown fat and happy on a diet of greasy goodness in the form of chum eggs, and most have put on 20-25% of their initial spring weight...chubby little bastiges.

The fall prince is slated to make an appearance next, and if you listed closely, you can hear the Daughter of Fog begin to call them.

Soon.

Return of the Ow.

2009-07-27T19:45:00.000-07:00

'Cause we're kinda dumb like that.

Ow, revisited.

2009-07-19T18:40:00.000-07:00

Spent a little time this afternoon on the Gong Show Flats, chasing the small and generally enjoying the spectacle of public fishing. Fishin' was good, but it turns out catchin' was better - We got a whopper.

We were bending over to release a fish when the hook came free under tension...Let's just say that we're happy we were wearing glasses, or we woulda been diggin' a bead out of our left eye.

Not exactly the worst hook job we have endured recently, but it still stung a tad. Owner Mosquitos are sharp little buggers, but next time we'll figure out a better way to check the sharpness of our hooks.

Meanwhile, back at the Ranch...

2009-07-12T19:09:00.000-07:00

Narwhal is back in town for a week or two, so after a late-AM wakeup call - D-gro and RiFlo got all married up yesterday, you understand, on account of D finally getting a real job, and the riff-raff they invited are big beer drinkers, and there was beer to drink...But we digress.

Ahem.

After a late-AM wakeup call, we moseyed on up to the ranch with the Narwhal to see if there was any livestock to play with. Sunny day, beautiful weather for a little trip... After a quick ride we were at the low-tide end of things, where we proceeded to get down and funky with the locals.

5 hours and a wicked sunburn later, we called off the hounds and retreated. Several crateloads of fish were hassled, many rigs and hooks were snapped off in the chum-flavored water, and much fun was had by all.

Narlie with a friend.

The back pasture...nice char, man.

Gettin' to the point in the year where days off are a commodity - If we can have a few more like this'n, we'd be set.

20 reasons we like summer.

2009-07-02T20:18:00.000-07:00

Things that make us go Hmmm, Installment #12

2009-06-22T22:52:00.000-07:00

..."I cannot say whether the EPA’s compromise represents the best overall environmental result; but I do believe it amounts to the kind of detailed decision that the statutes delegate authority to the EPA, not the courts, to make."

Justice Breyer, in his concurring statement.

Excerpt taken from:
SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES
COEUR ALASKA, INC. v. SOUTHEAST ALASKA
CONSERVATION COUNCIL ET AL.
CERTIORARI TO THE UNITED STATES COURT OF APPEALS FOR THE NINTH CIRCUIT
No. 07–984. Argued January 12, 2009—Decided June 22, 2009

Never mind the fact that the CWA defines crushed rock as a pollutant. Disregard the fact that the USACE is supposed to be the permitting body for that organization. Ignore the fact that Coeur got conflicting permitting from the EPA based on syntax.

Words merely desensitize the issue. At stake is the continued health of a fairly pristine ecosystem, a wilderness area that plays host to a staggeringly large number of organisms. In a time when past digressions and egregious acts seem to be coming back to haunt us with ever-increasing frequency, how can anyone think that this might be a good idea?

If it were a responsible mining solution, we might be for the mine. This is the misuse of language acted out upon the environment, and not just any environment. This is a place in our backyard, and one of the sandboxes that we play in fairly frequently.

GoogleEarth view of the lake in question. Ignore the fact that the lake is merely a wide meadow, and that the water goes on to form the East Fork of Slate creek - and that many different types of salmonids happen to call that water home. They would understand, really.

Not only the lake and creek in question, but the health of the estuary is at stake as well. Estuaries are breeding grounds, nurseries for a wide range of animals. This particular bay hosts a massive hooligan run, one that has sustained indigenous folks for a few years, and the wildlife for a few years before that. Why tamper with the gold we already have?

ADF&G FDD map - each of the blue lines represents an anadromous stream, and each red square represents a dataset.

If Berners bay produces enough for the locals to eat and enjoy, as well as supporting the human folks that use it sustainably for both commercial and recreational interests...why mess with a good thing?

That'll do, Pig.

2009-06-17T09:03:00.000-07:00

The call came around mid-afternoon.

"Gonger stuck a big one", the Dirty Hippie said, "Gotta be at least 40".

Sure.

The another call. "Your buddy bagged a thumper on the Outside Drag, we were right next to him. You gotta see this fish."

Interesting. We were starting to wonder if the Hippie had the proportions right, if the Gonger really did bag a big'un.

Then the knock at the door that evening. Gonger, covered in fish slime, holding a beer - "You gotta come see this thing, man."

And yes, it was big.

42¼" x 28½ ", which puts it at 44 lbs by conservative estimate and 48+ by some of the regression plots - Gonger couldn't find a scale, so we winged it with the old (but good) Weight X Girth² / 770 formula.

That'll do, Pig.

Silence Fini

2009-05-28T10:13:00.000-07:00

Contrary to the rumors running rampant in the worldwide flyfishing community, we are still alive and kicking. The annual Spring Freakout went a little long this year, that's all. All told, over a thousand mile in planes, boats and autos, then another few hundred on foot. Not that we counted, nor that it matters, but as a way of tallying the days and the places, distance is a universal language that can be understood - a mental marker between rivers, between valleys, and between fish.

After awhile, the flows run together in your mind, and the sheer immensity of the landscape dislocates your brain...but the fish remain, etched, burned into your synapses, swimming your neural pathways every time you close your eyes.

The one that surfed a good six feet of standing wave to hit your fly, after you cast into the rapids as a joke...

The one that kicked your ass and nearly cost you a flyline in the Big Jam...

The little dude that came out from under the cut-bank to mash your fly at the end of the swing and bounced off of the bank on his first jump...

That brand-spankin'-new hen that ran you into the high tide, then back into the river.

The ones that gave us nothin' but fin.

The ones that moved on our offerings but didn't take, then left us, a fairly evolved higher primate, rolling around on the bank hurling sticks and tearing grass in frustration as we tried and failed to outthink them.

When it comes down to it, the fish are what it is all about. Not necessarily the physical connection, but the mere presence in our world...or perhaps us in theirs. Something about them devolves us, turns us into beings incapable of language, gesturing and grunting in wonder at the silvery creatures moving in the water.

But now spring is over, and we are forced to rejoin polite society. Conversational skill must be unearthed and dusted off, basic grooming habits must be relearned, and the poise and restraint of the genteel guide must be assumed anew - but every time we close our eyes, they swim by again.

We're back...but that doesn't mean we're here.

Overdrive

2009-05-11T18:02:00.000-07:00

Time for a breather.

Sorry we haven't been around, but it is officially spring, you understand. The annual "Spring Freakout" has formally gotten underway, and the days are fast becoming a blur of boats, planes rivers and creeks, with snippets of food, sleep, and the barest hint of civilized discourse thrown into the mix.

Seeing as how our command of clever syntax has temporarily abandoned us this spring for a more rudimentary system of grunting and pointing as a form of communication, we'll leave it up to the pics to do our talking.

Oongawa.

Another plane, another boat, another day tomorrow...

Game on.

Shakedown

2009-04-27T11:48:00.000-07:00

Diggler, Killer K, Us, and Cap'n K got a collective wild hair yesterday and we all decided to do something about it.

Being rational human beings, we were capable of seeing the situation for what it was - no rain, huge amounts of snow, super-low flows, night temps still dipping below 28° - not exactly nature's thumbs-up for a productive trip.

However, we all contracted a bad case of gedouddatownitis on the same day. Phone calls were made, targets were discussed in hushed tones, modes of conveyance were selected, and a game plan was put together.

The First Trip is best conducted as a prelude, a warm-up, before any real excursions are undertaken...a dry-firing, if you will. This way, items that were left in haste or not remembered the night before are laughed off, and the consequence of absence is not as acutely felt. Some things, however, are best remembered whatever the tone of the trip.

When you forget your wading boots, it is always best to steal a friend's Xtratufs and make new ones...

We didn't really expect to see much, other than what we already knew but blocked from out eternal optimist's minds- the snow was high, the water was low, clear, and cold, and for the most part, there was a distinct absence of piscine life to be found. We did spot a few chilly fish doing their best impersonations of ostriches with their heads buried in rootwads instead of sand, a sure sign that the home team wasn't ready to play quite yet.

The birds were out in full force, with a cloud of whitefronted geese honking like 3pm on the LA freeway for most of our trip. They were interrupted only once, by a stately procession of trumpeter swans that swung in for a look-see and then continued on up the coast. We managed one crappy picture on their easternmost swing, but even fuzzy, it is still pretty cool.

After much poking and probing, a little gazing, and some minor contemplation, we accepted the fact that it wasn't going to happen today. No worries, though - good friends, a few beers, low expectations, a walk in the cold spring sun...

Shakedown for the new season.

Game on, kids.

Lost Weekend '09

2009-04-23T12:27:00.000-07:00

Just about fully recovered from FolkFest.

Many tunes were picked, many beers were drunk, many hours were spent in, beside, with, and around music as made by both amateur and professional musicians. We got the chance to catch up with a few folks we haven't seen for years, and got to pick well into the daylight with like-minded citizens of the string.

We're not gonna type much more, partly because the folkfest experience is an event that must be experienced live, in real-time, to be fully understood. The whole undertaking would be somehow cheapened in a simple, linear translation, and so many portions of the scene need to be viewed in situ to make much sense at all...

...But mostly, we're not gonna type much more 'cause our fingers still hurt like hell from the saturday night sauna jam - once again, you had to be there.

Scenes from a lost weekend.

And for your listening enjoyment...

Prelude to a Good Time.

2009-04-16T17:06:00.000-07:00

Ok...last-minute prep for the first all-nighter this year.

Beer - Check. Bar closes at 1, gotta have at least a stash of fuel to keep goin'.
Granola bars - Mm-hmm.
Extra Strings - Check. 2 packs this year...we're fast learners after last years' stringbreakathon.
Extra picks - But of course.
Various n' Sundry Luthiery Kit - Yep. Beats listening to somebody's cheap annoying buzz all night.
Gatorade - Got it.
Red Bull - Artificial 3rd wind.
All we're missing is the double cheeseburger that will get us over the 5am hump until the coffeeshops open, and we're good to go to the first big evening of this year's FolkFest.

We'll bring a camera, naturally, but we're not gonna promise anything legible or intelligible for at least 4, maybe 5 days. During that time, we will once again attempt to drink our own weight in beer, eat more corndogs than is good for a fella, play tunes until our fingers blister, bleed, then blister again, have as much fun as one human being is maximally allowed in any calendar year, and generally blow it all out in one last throwdown before fishing season begins.

We got the Laurel all decked out with new wires and a shine job, somethin' she don't get but once a year. We played a little warmup session at lunch with a few of the boys, and all signs point to go for a good 120 hours of music.

A few pics from last year, to get y'all in the mood.

FolkFest, fools. Git'cher pick on.

Breakfast of Champions v3.0

2009-04-10T11:21:00.000-07:00

When judged on the merits of relative intelligence, beauty, or personality, farm animals and tubers are on the lower left end of the scale.

However, if cooked in just the right amount of butter, salt, and pepper, they become things of sublime beauty and toothsomeness.

When paired with fine coffee, Breakfast Nirvana is reached.

The Elements

The Farm Trinity

The Aftermath

Now we can safely face the day.

High and Outside

2009-04-06T18:59:00.000-07:00

Got an email from D-Gro earlier today, with a few words and a set of pictures that tell a long story.

Seems that D, Lawnmower, and the Dirty Hippie were gonna get a jump on this year's steelheading by taking a ski-plane into one of the many flows around here. Good thinking, provided the meadow that you intend to land in doesn't have 30" of fresh pow over a rotten crust...

...After 5 hours of digging, pushing, shoving, sweating, and swearing, they finally got the plane turned around and onto a snowshoe-stamped runway. Little did they know that the should have just cut their losses and come back with the magic carpet.

We're sure they had fun, though. First tracks on any river is always fun, even if there is 8' of snow on the bank and 65 cfs in the channel...

Just means more time to drink beer.

Notice the ditch dug by the belly-tank.

Apparently, everything had to come out of the plane to unstick it.

Dirty Hippie pushin' a wing with Lawnmower tryin' to reel in the port-side...D-gro, well away from where any actual work was happening, snappin' pictures.

There's always next time, boys. Give 'em hell.

Things that make us go Hmmm, Installment #11

2009-03-31T18:07:00.000-07:00

Really?

Going Full-Geek

2009-03-23T16:20:00.000-07:00

Occasionally, we have been known to be a little obsessive about our hobbies.

Ok, more than occasionally.

We had a chance to sit under the wings of some of the two-handed masters this winter, and we tried to absorb all of the casting and fishing knowledge that we could from these badasses without being an obsequious tool about it. All of these Jedi are really cool guys, easy to be around and willing to delve into the theory of 2-handed casting at the drop of a geeky hat.

To y'all that helped us get our head around taper profiles, recovery speeds, loop braking, 2-handed drift, top- and bottom-hand theory...Thanks. Y'all didn't need to listen to - much less answer - questions from some fool who wanted to get to the bottom of the geekiness, but you did.

The wife would also like a word with you...something about a bank account and a shotgun, or something...

The following is an essay in geekese, with the spoils of the sickness so far...

Echo TR 7130...the gateway rod. So easy to cast a Skagit compact, it should be illegal.

Winston BII-mx 6116...the über-underhand stick. Butta wit' a 425gr 35' head. Summer-runs, beware...

Loop Multi 8130...the Boomer. We decided that swinging for kings would be the next logical step in the sickness, so...

Redington CPX 5106...because you can never have enough switch rods. Seriously.

Beulah Platinum 6126...the Smoove Groover. Summer-runs in the cold H₂0 should be seriously nervous, 'cause this twig throws tips like a beast.

...Not to mention a whole pile o' lines to go with the above sticks.

So thanks again, gents. Next time we meet up, beer's on our tab...if we can still afford it.

An keep your eyes peeled for a shotgun-totin' Mama that might want a word with you...she's more dangerous than she looks.

Exotic species, v2

2009-03-13T18:56:00.000-07:00

We opened our E-mailbox late last fall to discover yet another deleterious exotic species. Seems that Cap'n K and a few Eastern acquaintances spent a few weeks of last summer chasing Atlantics around on some cheesy little river in Canuckistan, and his grip n' grin was proof-positive that such animal indeed exists.

While we thoroughly enjoyed the Cap'n stories about the "ghillie" that kept falling asleep and the buddy that risked jail-time to smuggle some split-shot onto their "beat", we still gotta wonder - Atlantics? Really, Cap'n? We can understand the tropical stuff, but full-on, rent-a-beat-and-throw-goofy-old-stuff Atlantic fishin'?

Aren't you supposed to fish for those with silk lines? Gut leaders? Greenheart rods? Shouldn't you be wearing tweed, smoking a briar, and be seriously contemplating colonizing the nearest country full of folks more unlike and less well-off than you?

In fairness to the Cap'n, he's been wanting to do this for a long time, and judging by his $500/lb fish, he saw what he needed, and he probably ain't goin' back.

Perhaps there is something that we are missing in all of this...maybe some folks are drawn to tradition not for the sport, but for the comfortable ritual established around it. The familiar feeling of doing something that the rest of the herd is doing, achieving complacency through homogeneity.

Well, we never got the urge to wear the Old Man's cologne or fix up 50's rides, so we're really not sure what all the fuss is about. But when it comes to tradition, we think that it definitely has a place, and that place is behind us. It should be thoroughly reviewed from time to time, and looked upon as A Good Start.

55 Days...

2009-03-06T10:44:00.000-08:00

...And counting.

The photographic capture and rendition of falling snow is an art form, one that we have yet to successfully engage in. We have no problem sneaking up on and photographically ensnaring the snow while it is resting upon the landscape, but we can't seem to digitally grasp the particular reckless insouciance with which the March snow seems to fall. This, however, does not prevent us from trying.

Scenes of snow at rest from the last of the semi-sunny days for awhile.

4 to 8 inches of accumulation expected today, more tomorrow, with a slight respite forecast sometime next week - Anyone have the number for the groundhog? We need to give him a piece of our mind on this whole "Winter" business.

55 days.

1320 hours.

That's all that separates this-

From this.

Waiting.

Home again, home again, jiggedy-jog.

2009-03-04T16:21:00.000-08:00

Back, and officially done with show season. While the fight to save Bristol Bay continues on the front lines, we will be behind the curtain pulling levers and speaking into the microphone. Soon to be out from Sportsman's Alliance for Alaska is the "how-to" manual for hosting a RedGold movie night for your fly fishing club or organization...many thanks to Hick for gettin' the first one done up proper and paving the way for future functions.

We had fun hangin' with M² and B² (not to be confused with B2), chowin' down on Mex, Steax, Drinx, and BS. Lookin' forward to the next time, gents.

Big Honkin' Thanks to Cap'n Rajeff for the fine Thai meal Sunday night, and thanks to the Dalai Larimer for the company, conversation, and 30-minute-wonder spey lesson. We owe you both.

And while we're at it with the shameless pandering and casual sentimentality, we wanna give a shout out to a blast from the past...

Just before we left for Cali last week, the phone rang. Being the semi-civilized, mostly upright bipedal mammals that we are in the morning, we stared at the unknown, out-of-state number on the caller ID in mute incomprehension for a ring or two, then decided to answer it.

Us: "Hello?"
Them: "Is this ____ __________?"
Us: "...Uhh...Yeah."
Them: "HAHA! Whazz up Sucka?"
Us: "...Mmmm...not much...?"

...And for a minute or so, we had no idea what was going on. The voice on the other end of the phone was reciting names and places from what seemed like years ago with casual familiarity, and somewhere in the yet-to-be-caffiene-jumpstarted region of our rather small brain we could almost picture the person on the other end of the blower.

Then he said his name...

...and for about a half-hour, we caught up with one of the old college crew, Davey B. Livin' somewhere in CheeseWorld now, he's married and fishes as much as he can, but not as much as he wants to. Damn shame, 'cause this kid is one of the lights...fly-tyin' fool, and one of the cats that helped us along the path.

Good to hear from you, man...even if the circumstances were not optimum, we appreciate the call.

Don't be a stranger now, hear?

RoadTrip '09, v1.2

2009-02-25T23:14:00.000-08:00

With a heavy heart, we're off again...

This time to Pleasanton, CA, the last stop on the Fly Fishing Show tour for '09. We'll be calling the Alameda County Fairgrounds home for the weekend, installed in the Sportsman's Alliance for Alaska booth for the duration. It's gonna be tough, but nobody at The Pebble Partnership is going to wait for our sense of loss to subside, so we're gonna put on the game-face and do what needs to be done.

If you happen to be in the neighborhood, stop on by the booth to check out the latest developments in the fight to save Bristol Bay. We're going to be showing the RedGold documentary every day at 4pm in one of the "adventure theaters", and we've got some cool schwag available for a small donation towards the cause.

Come on out and see what's going on, and don't forget to say Hi.

Passing

2009-02-23T09:20:00.000-08:00

He loved rubbies and scratchies, especially behind his ears.

He really enjoyed tearing the stuffing out of little stuffed animals.

He really didn't like it if you messed with either his toes or his tail.

He thought that laps were invented for his sole enjoyment.

He loved bacon grease.

He loved playing with his ropes, hanging off the end while you swung him around and around.

If you gave him a whole peanut, he would nibble it very daintily, then spit out the shell and eat the peanut.

He sang with us every time we played the fiddle.

He loved laying in front of both the pellet stove and the oil heater.

He used to bury his bones in the dirty laundry pile.

His mortal enemy was the vacuum cleaner.

He loved sunshine.

When he was younger, he loved going for rides in the truck.

He used to follow us around the house all day, just to be near us.

He used to really like sleeping under the covers.

He hated having his nails trimmed.

We never had trouble finding a dog-sitter.

He would take 20 minutes to go 100 yards on his walks...everything required a sniff or a lick.

He loved chewing on wood...sticks, twigs, logs, trees...he loved 'em all.

Besides the peanut trick, the only other trick he knew was "Sit".

He didn't like porcupines...or cats, or other dogs...or other animals in general.

He once bit a horse when he was little.

He never liked the rain.

He enjoyed stalking and attacking our feet.

He left a hole in us that won't be filled.

He's not in pain anymore.

He is still loved, still remembered, and still celebrated.

Tramp, aka The Pooper.

October 1992 - February 2009

All the way to the scene of the crash

2009-02-18T10:31:00.000-08:00

Back from the Road.

Thanks to Whitey, Sharen, and Ratbone for the work in the Bellevue booth...btw, nice new look on the Chum, E.

Huge props to Señor Kerr for rowin' us around the coast and generally having way too much fun for 3 reasonably well-adjusted dudes. Thanks for opening your home to us, and for makin' the bitchin'est deer tacos north of Ciudad Juárez.

Big Ups to Hick for doin' all the legwork for the Red Gold showing in PDX...you made the trip worth it, man. Next time we'll be sure to get less popcorn, more chairs, and twice the beer.

Thanks to Deerhawk for the work in the PDX booth - you are the man, and we'll be in touch about that AK roadtrip.

Bacon, we owe you, brotha. That one grab was worth a whole day in the moon boots. Now that you have shown us a little of yours, we'll be more than happy to show you a little ours.

Back to the present.

For a month or so, the Pooper has been slowing down, sleeping a lot more, and generally showing a lot more signs that his 16 years are rapidly catching up to him. About christmastime, he was still boogieing up and down the stairs like it wasn't nothin' but a thang, and he still went into puppy mode when his stuffed animals came out of the basket.

His back legs don't work anymore these days, and he gets a little restless when he lays on one side for too long. Eating is no longer his favorite thing to do, and it's all we can do to get him to drink a little water every now and then.

This feels like a slow-motion accident, an inevitable open road crash that you can see coming a long ways off, but are incapable of avoiding. If you have ever lost a pet to old age, you can probably understand this emotion. Having buried a few family dogs in our day, we know what is coming, but we are still powerless to change the outcome of the wreck. We know it's coming and we know it's going to hurt, but we also know that we survive, scarred and shaking, but alive.

That doesn't make it any easier.

RoadTrip '09 v1.1

2009-02-04T21:53:00.000-08:00

On the road again, peeps.

This time we're on our way to beyootiful downtown Bellevue, WA. For the 3rd year in a row, we're donating our time and tongue to the Sportsman's Alliance for Alaska at the Fly Fishing Show, Feb. 6-7-8 at the Meydenbauer Center. Joining us in the booth for the 2nd year in a row will be the man, the myth, the legend...AKA Whitey. We will also have Ratbone on hand saturday, lending his time and considerable charisma to help save Bristol Bay.

From there it's off to a rendezvous with Senor Kerr of Forks, WA, and if the weather cooperates, we're all gonna sneak around a few flows, see if we can't find a willing dance partner or two, hopefully of the native persuasion...

...Then a quick hop down to Stumptown, OR, and another Fly Fishing Show, this time at the PDX Convention Center, Feb 14-15. We're gonna pre-funk at the headquarters of the Oregon Chapter of The Sierra Club on Friday the 13th, throwin' down 2 good flicks on Bristol Bay - Equilibrium and Red Gold. Word around the campfire is that Jefe is gonna provide beer n' snacks, so if you are in the neighborhood, drop on by.

Bacon has also (grudgingly) agreed to take us fishin' later that week, so we fully expect to be trussed and blindfolded in the back of a pickup chuggin' somewhere within the continental US, taggin' along with a fella reputed to be among the fishiest. As we have pointed out many a time, we ain't the smoothest dude with a two-hander, so we're hopin' to measure success by not hookin' him, his dog, or wrappin' us all up in a big macrame of skagit line and feathers.

If you are at either the shows, stop on by the booth to check out the latest updates on Bristol Bay, check out the daily screenings of Red Gold, or just stop by and say Hi.

Updates as they happen, and as we figure out the 'pooter - we have a laptop now, but that doesn't make us E-wizards.

See you on the road.

Are we finished yet?

2009-01-30T17:31:00.000-08:00

Just before noon today.

That's when we got done with an order for some saltwater dude, 2 dozen custom flies for big, nasty fish.

"2 dozen" you say, "That doesn't sound like much of a big deal".

Any fly that is over 10", has hook(s) larger than 5/0, or requires hair-grooming tools and products to manage and manipulate the materials constitutes a big deal in our book. Rest assured that we're gettin' a pretty penny for all the effort, but we don't think the Wife is gonna let us take on any more "custom orders" - she didn't mind the hair-dryer trick, but she drew the line at the use of her $25 a can hairspray.

Besides, we think we're allergic to bunny-fuzz. If we weren't before this, we sure as hell are now.

Just for reference, that's a 6" straightedge.

The ONE bubbly epoxy job in the whole bunch, and we get a close-up of it...

The 8th Annual Sushi Blowout: Recap

2009-01-25T14:41:00.000-08:00

Just in case you missed it, the Sushi Party was last night.

If you have to ask, "Uhh...which Sushi Party?", then you missed it.

Now in it's 8th year, the Sushi Party started as a small festivity, a gathering of a few friends to celebrate the Gonger's birthday in the dead of winter. What once occupied the dining room of a modest downstairs apartment has blossomed into a fete that takes over entire homes in the Juneau area, garages included.

Over the years, new tricks and treats have been hauled out for the amusement of tout le Juneau at the Sushi Party. Pastry cones filled with poke, topped with watercress. The famous Surf n' Turf roll, featuring a seared strip of New York steak nestled in with a King Crab leg, topped with grated horseradish. The Tuna Explosion roll, described as "tuna, with chopped tuna, wrapped in tuna". The Gonger's signature art sushi. Every year we try to bring something new to the game, and the Gonger does his part to advance the art as well.

This year we brought the Ika-Ika roll. Squid, stuffed in squid, topped with sea salad. Strange looking, but oh so tasty. Not to be outdone, the Gonger spent a small fortune on a block of Bluefin chu-toro, as well as 3 pounds of premium maguro. Copious amounts of nigiri-zushi were put to offer by the Gonger, while we held down the makizushi and uramaki end of things with our ninja-like rolling skills. As with any good Sushi Party, sake was consumed by the gallon, and rice beers were to be had at every turn.

Images from the evening.

The calm before the storm.

Hamachi in yuzu-soy, topped with tempura serrano chiles.

The Gonger's maguro.

Chu-toro...otherwise known as fatty bliss.

Our "Greasy Eel" roll...Unagi, cream cheese, and avocado.

Have some sushi with your tobikko, mmm? Sockeye roll.

Tunirvana Roll. Tuna and unagi on the inside, tuna and avocado on the outside.

Ika-ika roll. Chopped squid and rice, stuffed inside a squid tube.

The Gonger and his art sushi.

Chicks dig sushi.

Fisheye roll. Maguro and tobikko.

If you haven't cooked with a torch, you haven't really cooked. New York steak with sesame oil, yuzu, scallions and ginger...5 seconds with the torch.

The aftermath.

Sushi Party '09 is in the bag...that must mean that spring is on it's way.

Kampai!

Exotic species, v1

2009-01-20T12:21:00.000-08:00

D-gro sent us an email from Baja Sur the other day, ostensibly to say hi, long time no see, but also to rub his recent tropical fishing success in our cold runny nose.

It is a good thing that D finally got some sun. Possibly the whitest man in AK, D-gro lets his Minnesota roots show by wearing tube-socks in the boat...as if a Fisha never heard of tevas.

It ain't steelhead, but it DOES look like fun...

Muchacho blanco con los pescados

We cropped the socks out of this one - we can't let a fisha be seen in such a state.

It wouldn't be complete without the obligatory food shot. Some small cantina, some hot afternoon, some cold beer and spicy salsas.

Bueno en usted D-gro, usted bueno hecha.

Manlandia

2009-01-17T13:56:00.000-08:00

The Wife is in TX tending to familial matters for the next week, so we're holding down the shopping duties for the staff of the Neil Creek Estate. Lately, the dog has become more finicky in his eating habits...not sure if it's just old age coming to roost, or the fact that maybe he really likes it when we get down there next to his food bowl and spoon-feed him an entire can of "chicken chunks in gravy". At any rate, the pooper-fuel of choice is now a toss up between the aforementioned chunks and "meat loaf for dogs", a smooth greyish paste of ambiguous origins. The meatloaf is probably easier for his near-toothless mouth to get around, but he seems to like the bite-sized offerings of the chicken chunks, especially with a little bacon grease - but then again, he once ate a cardboard box that had bacon grease on it.

With the nutritional needs of the Supreme Leader taken care of, we had a chance to do a little shopping for ourselves. We managed to navigate the supermarket without getting lost, and we would like to believe that we have met our basic nutritional needs for the week to come. With the addition of a few green things - vegetables, not unintentionally green things - it appears as if we might survive this week in relative comfort.

Just add a flat screen tv, 239 channels, and a beer fridge...

Manlandia.

Things that make us go Hmmm, Installment #10

2009-01-13T11:57:00.000-08:00

CHIEF JUSTICE ROBERTS: All the fish, there are a thousand fish in this lake, right?
MR. WALDO: Yes. Right.
CHIEF JUSTICE ROBERTS: And those aren't endangered fish; there are millions of them somewhere else, right?

45:11-16, Oral argument transcript of case(s) #07-984 - COEUR ALASKA, INC., Petitioner v. SOUTHEAST ALASKA CONSERVATION COUNCIL, ET AL. and 07-990 - ALASKA, Petitioner v. SOUTHEAST ALASKA CONSERVATION COUNCIL, ET AL.

Full transcript to be found Here

RoadTrip '09, v1.0

2009-01-07T11:43:00.000-08:00

Remember when we said things was happenin' fast around the Neil Creek Estate?

Well, RoadTrip '09 is already upon us. We didn't even have time to brush the gingerbread crumbs off of our fronts, to wipe the turkey drippings off of our chin, and we're already leaving.

This time we're off to Denver, CO, for the Fly Fishing Show. For the third year in a row, we are donating our time and our tongue to the Sportsman's Alliance for Alaska in an effort to get the word out about the proposed Pebble Mine project. We'll be showing Red Gold in the "adventure theater" on a daily basis, as well as at the booth on a brand-spankin'-new laptop...not ours, but a loaner from Timbo.

If you find yourself in the neighborhood, feel more than free to come on over and check out what we have to offer, or just say Hi. Either way, we'll be happy to see you.

Last call.

2008-12-31T18:10:00.000-08:00

Somehow, 2008 is mere hours from being over.

Things have been at Holiday Speed as of late, and we are close to runnin' out of steam. One more night of hoopla, then we can settle in on the couch tomorrow and watch the boys play hockey at Wrigley field. We hope to have a normal weekend, but things are gonna start happenin' pretty fast around here in the new year.

2009 is shaping up to be a good one, but more on that later. Right now, we're gonna reminisce a little with a few of our favorite images from '08.

See ya next year.