Exotic species, v2

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...

...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.

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

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

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

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

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.