| And Now, Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Fishing |
| By Tom Bie |
| Tuesday, 25 September 2007 20:46 |
![]() I'm sick of waiting for Bie to make a new blog post. He's been fighting that shark for like two months. So here's a quick rundown since July, like Berman's Fastest Three Minutes:
Here's the campsite where summer really got rolling. This is back in
July, at the Drake Bake just south of Bozeman, Montana, shortly after
Nemo made his shark fishing post. This was my favorite trip of the
summer because I didn't have to do shit except lay in the dirt, swim in
the Gallatin River, and eat hot dog chunks dropped by drunk Drakiens.
Here I am chillin' next to the Gallatin. Good fishing was like 10 feet
away and good sticks were everywhere. But I pretty much laid here all
day. Just like this. It was awesome.
Here's another picture of me at the Greek Creek Campground, where we
all stayed. There's really no reason to include this shot, other than
it's of me, and there's no such thing as too much me. Note stoic guard-dog look.
We stopped at the Bighorn on the way home from this trip, and this is a brown that Nemo allegedly caught. I say allegedly, because...
I was busy doing this:
and even a few of these:
Then Nemo left for a few days to go here: And even though he sucked sufficiently enough to fail again at getting a big tarpon, he did manage to catch his first one of these on a fly rod, which I guess is pretty cool:
And that was pretty much it for awhile, because Nemo had the dumb print version of this thing to put together. But thank God for these: And this:
and pretty soon, these:
Until then, may your frisbees fly far, and may there always be hotdogs on the floor. Love, Trask |
Dear prospective southern Indiana resident:
You would hear the hum of the dirt track four miles from your house on Friday nights. The sound would somehow travel all that way through the absurd continental humidity. It would be eighty five degrees at ten p.m. You would sit on the porch and drink beer and suffocate.