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.
Friday, December 31, 2010
66 reasons to like 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Speaking of Tradition...
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
RoadTrip '10 v6 Analysis, Discussion.
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.
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.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Housekeeping...
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.
Enjoy the new one.
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