Tuesday, February 28

At what point is it excessive?

No, its not a green drake. Its one centimeter, not an inch.
Just because you can probably doesn't mean you need to, right? Subtitled, "where'd I put those size 28 hooks?"

I'm no great tier, but holy shit, extended bodies from furled antron is some easy bake action. Its total fucking open season on extended body BWOs and midges and shit....if a size 20 is this easy with plastic canvas yarn fake antron, what about floss?  Granted, I need to think about moving the wings further back down the body since, well, most of the body is off the ass end of the hook, but whatever..this would probably make sense with short shank hooks, right?


Don't care. Bought a copy of Tying Furled Bodies Flies by Ken Hanley for like $2 at Ollies because I could. I'm gonna fucking rape some caddis larva ties with this shit.

Saturday, February 25

The greatest gift of all, its bigger than Jesus.

I meant for this to be the official one year happy anniversary sort of shit, and well, didn't happen.

Oh fuck yes.

This is, arguably, a fishing blog. Somehow, I've had more discussion in a week on a post about moustaches  than ever before, which is amazing to me. That post, however, started out as a fishing post.

This one doesn't.

I may or may not have been in an altered mood when I had a vision... a vision of a sandwich as handsome and powerful as any ever imagined before. It combined several basic ingredients, but did so in a way that made me feel I was onto something good.

Not that this is all mine, I actually owe the genesis of it to my father, a man who for years has epoused the power of peanut butter toast. That is whole wheat bread (healthy fucking assjacks) and creamy peanut butter. The official recipe called for Shoprite brand, IIRC, but I suppose any type of creamy should be.

The basic inspiration of PB toast is that the toast melts the peanut butter into the pores of the bread.

Simple, right? Right.

Turn the key; unlock the One True Sandwich.

Thursday, February 23

fishing or suicide. fishing seems easier.

To say that I'd like to not be at work right now barely scratches the surface of my thoughts. 

If I'm lucky, the universe will coincide nicely between the moment between meetings with people I don't care about discussing problems I don't want to care about with an hour long sojourn to the local park where a rising cloud of blue winged olives I do care about will be imitated nicely on a fly rod I thought I didn't care about upon which it turns out that I do. 

This is why at 2:38am I was tying four tiny little flies with the first scraps I could find on my desk. There are many things I should be devoting time to. All of these things I do are not among them.

This is a problem. However, I'll continue to put it off one hour at a time.

Tuesday, February 21

a year.

started because i was irritated with old people. shit, updated this almost weekly for awhile on a quest for free shit which never really panned out. got sick. flirted with death. rebounded. trying to understand fishing without smoking...

let's break for that one.

seriously. you ever notice how fucking boring this bullshit hobby is? fuck my face, part of its joy was sitting on a log smoking a pipe and waiting for shit to happen.

denied. fuck you cancer.

...anyways. whatever. been a year. and change. fuckin eh.

spring. occasional fishing. thinking about completing a rod. thinking about starting the new rod. looking at the new shit then picking up 1930's finest. south bend assures me that in 1939, this fly rod was in fact "dry fly action." i'm pretty sure they lied. wishing like fuck i could smoke on the water. barely updating as not really understanding a need. if it wasn't so much work, i'd fish a silk line.

jasper thread wraps sure are pretty.

Thursday, February 9

crap review

Let's start with a book review, I've been meaning to do this a long, long time now and never did. Afterwards, it segues (this is a lie, it doesn't) into some nonsense I hammered into keyboards after a particularly stupid thing was written on the innerwebs (unheard of, I know!) and when I was trying to figure out why a 5wt rod I owned was horribly underwhelming with a new line. They all tie together, in a way, so run with it. Let's go, eh?

It was almost a throw away book, something someone suggested and I bought, used, for a penny on Amazon. It turned out to be the single most fascinating book about fly fishing I ever bought.

Serious Flyfishing with Survey Results by John Waite. It appears to be a self published treatise on the state of the fly fishing industry in 1998. It certainly is the work of a fellow curmudgeon and crank, though.

John's opinionated, and not afraid to share his feelings on the state of the "elite fly fishing industry." Shit, some of the things he says (and the way he relates them) are downright conspiracy minded batshit crazy level rants, but at the same time, the dude's just fuckin' right.

Tuesday, February 7

me me me me me me me me, repeat ad nauseum.

"Dude, why are you not posticating at blblblblb.com?"
Got banned.
Being a dickhead. 
Well, what, you know its true. I ain't mad, baby, Ike still loves me.
"So, like, can you come back?"
Yeah, although dunno how long it'll last. I am a dickhead. Its better this way. Besides, I made my own forum where I'm free to reign terror on anyone I don't like.
"Can I have the URL?"

So, there you have it. The rumours of my demise are greatly exaggerated. And, frankly, they're not exaggerated enough. C'mon, prison, cancer, multistate crime spree, eaten by wolves...so many fucking options, and people are posting up whereabouts when they spot me on niche boards? Fuck, does that mean I'm spot burned? Not that I'm not flattered and all to be this interesting to people, but isn't there something more pressing to discuss? Mountain lions, line cleansing protips, the 8'6" 5wt fucking rod of your fucking dreams, or perhaps something interesting like tentkara? I hear its very awesome, all fucking Zen and fucking simplicity and fucking leet as fuck and shit. No reels. That's very different, amirite? That's what makes the difference betwixt a hackneyed fucking cretin and a Zen fucking Monk, fly reel. HOLY FUCK MR MIYAGI WAS A SPIN FISHERMAN!

Well, shit, that just dashed all that shit to the ground. Guess we know what constitutes Zen fucking awesome now, tenkarites... bust out the Zebco, fuckers, its on like Donkey Kong.

Anyways, back to important shit. Me, and my central importance to your universe. I am, btw, going to assume that I'm the hub of your online existance coz I'm a fcukign raging egomaniac like thatthis. See, reference this shit? An entire post about how awesome I am. Fuck yeah, Seaking.