If I've had better domestic fishing trips, I can't remember them. Blitzing Albies, fish from the beach, pool and locol luches at the BT, fantastic food and one questionable movie night. Others have made posts on the forum, but now, you get to the REST of the story... 

 k:

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1) Because there's just something about a dude wearing camo, holding a bloody bear carcass. (Headline inside: "Do Goldilocks a Favor.") Sure, you might not ask him to take your SATs for you, but when your gutless little hippy car slides off the road in a snowstorm, guarantee this dude rolls up in an F350 and pulls your pansy ass out. 

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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:

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I'm fried. Fighting butt buried deep in my belly, my left hand bends backwards on the foregrip of a 12-weight while my right hand palms the bottom of a Tibor, trying desperately to slow the spinning. The 80-pound blue shark at the end of my line is heading deep for another run (again), and I saw my backing knot disappear into the depths a long time ago.

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by Tom Bie

Blue-winged olives are sometimes called “drab”—defined by Webster as “monotonous” or “dull.” But I think that’s a wholly inappropriate term. Winter is monotonous. Waiting for bugs is monotonous. Frozen lakes and rivers are monotonous. Bluewings are the bridge leading away from monotony, not toward it—they’re almost always...

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