First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

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fatman
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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by fatman » Fri Aug 18, 2017 10:08 am

peetso wrote:
Thu Aug 17, 2017 11:29 pm


never go full khaki.
makes you look like the Polish Tumbling Team
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D-nymph
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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by D-nymph » Fri Aug 18, 2017 11:09 am

Average Joe wrote:
Thu Aug 17, 2017 12:05 am
Pxatim: "TWEET! Cursing on the river! And by the way, that girl you're with is way out of your league."

Pxatim now talking to girl: "Ma'am, make your parents proud and dump that bum. We all know you can do better than that."
hahahaha

:needs_pics
"The devil's pourin drinks and his daughter needs a ride" - III

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Average Joe
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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by Average Joe » Fri Aug 18, 2017 4:11 pm

I don't remember waking up on Sunday. Maybe I did, or maybe I never went to sleep.

Doesn't matter.

My first memories of that day were of a camp that was surprisingly clean, a bunch of guys packing up their shit, and two big smoking piles of ash.

Fallen handed me a breakfast beer, and during the next hour or so I said my goodbyes to an outstanding group of men: West Chester, fatman, T.J. Brayshaw, skullion childs, pxatim, and RockyMtHigh. Thank you all for taking such very good care of me. It was a hoot.

As RockyMtHigh pulled out of the compound we could see handfuls of river gravel tumbling inside his hubcaps, and Brayshaw noted that, "By the time he gets home, those pebbles are going to be as smooth and shiny as gemstones."

Pxatim couldn't bear to leave without burning one last thing, so he tossed a pair of shorts onto the coals before heading on his way.

Fallen helped one of his buddies load up all the garbage and then took me back to his house, where I showered and changed and got the opportunity to meet his very lovely wife.

We had a few more beers and then stopped for some Big Boy burgers before he dropped me off at the airport.

Once I got past airport security it only took me ten hours to get home.

Modern air travel.

Next time I'll drive.

A huge thanks to fallen for hosting this event and for his warm and generous hospitality, and to his crew of militia who worked so very hard to get us onto fish that simply weren't there. I've no idea what they thought of us. I hope we didn't scare/scar them.

The next day my wife washed my militia wife beater.

Three times.

With bleach.


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A couple of parting observations:

Setting up a vagina chair requires a helluva lot of work.

There are better ways to cook bacon than wrapping it in foil and then letting it smoke on a piece of pressure-treated lumber.

Next year we're going to need more couches.

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fallen513
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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by fallen513 » Fri Aug 18, 2017 7:15 pm

That bacon tasted like total shit. Pure molten plastic poison.
____________________________________________________________________________________
I love flyfishing so much I want it to die. -thalweg

Isn't it TIME?

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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by austrotard » Sat Aug 19, 2017 12:35 am

this bake has been brought to you by vanish napisan and redhead matches.

"if ye cannae clean it, bairn it to the fookin' grrrrund."
we'll always have buffalo, sweet josh.

-mtice

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fallen513
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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by fallen513 » Sun Aug 20, 2017 1:46 am

Not really sure where to start with this shit. What a great time. Participants:
Me
Dustin
Tim
Mike
Chris
Jeremy
Andrew
Dan
Jeff
Brett
Joe
Hunter
Greg
Joey
Thom
Rob
Tim B
Kevin
Yuki

I started out Tuesday night, eating the hottest wings a local joint had to offer and pounding beers until 2 am, when they kicked me out. I knew the next few days would be a whirlwind, with Tim arriving around 2 pm & then Chris around 4. I worked a bit that morning and then went on a bourbon hunt, as I had caught wind of a rare release of Weller bourbon about 40 minutes south. I was running a bit behind, but Tim assured me he’d take care of my wife if he beat me back to my house. I got my bourbon and rushed home for the last 6 minutes of alone time I’d have with the wife over the next 5 days. My phone rang as I was putting my pants back on, Tim was in the driveway. We had a couple hours to kill before Chris arrived, so we drank a few beers, played some pool, had some whiskey and ate a bit of tuna sashimi. Chris arrived, gifted me with some very special NY whiskey, we had some more tuna, a few more beers and a bit more whiskey before heading off to the fly shop. Somehow we got derailed into a trip to the sushi bar on the way. How far away is the airport, they kept asking. It’s right down the street. We had some good sushi, and a few more beers, then on to the fly shop. Like most fly shops, they offer curbside product replacement, so we put the blinkers on in the middle of traffic while they ran out my new Patagonia backpack, to replace the one that had a zipper failure. 30 seconds later we were on our way to get Joe at the airport. Things were beginning to get fuzzy. Luckily there was only 4 more days to get through. We sped through the byways, showing the city to the fellas who had never seen it. On your right is a homeless lady, taking a dump on the sidewalk. Welcome to Cincinnati guys. We arrived at the airport right on time, and by right on time I mean late as a motherfucker. Thankfully it took some time for Joe’s luggage to hit baggage claim, so as far as he knew, we were right on time. We pulled up, he hopped in and it was off to the races. I know of this place in Louisville where the fish jump into the boat, so we should go there I thought. So we embarked on the 90 minute journey south to rendezvous with Jeff, who lives there and Hunter, who was towing his boat up from Nashville. We were to slay the fish. 15 minutes into the trek, the first safety meeting of the bake was to commence, and commence it did. Chris pulled out some Space Cat beer or some shit, no idea what it was but it was in giant, reflective cans with cats and aliens and shit on it. As we cracked 4 or 5 of them, I assured Tim that I had never seen the law on this stretch of highway. We toasted to the bake, good friends and good fishing, we shouted “FUCK THE LAW” as we passed a state trooper, who pulled out behind us Dukes of Hazzard style with his lights blazing. Well horseshit! I started looking for places to stuff this giant can of booze, as did everyone else. I heard seat pockets opening, zippers, you name it…everyone was scrambling to unfuck the situation as quick as possible. We didn’t get very far did we… that’s what I was thinking. 30 minutes in and we already burnt it down. Lucky for us, the bear roared past us, pulling off to assist another one tending to some other fucked up situation. We opened some more beers and toasted to not going to jail. I looked at Joe and said…we’re going to take it up a notch Joe. Joe nodded and cracked another beer. We pushed on, arriving in the Lou sometime around 8 pm, meeting up with Jeff & Hunter at a local volleyball establishment. Live entertainment, girls in stretchy shorts, etc. Introductions were made and we ordered some more drinks. Joe had a bourbon and I had a bourbon and a couple more beers. I had a Caesar salad. 4 stars. Some blurry shit, potato skins and it was back to Jeff’s house. Hunter and Jeff headed straight there, Tim, Chris, Joe & I headed to the Liquor Barn. We poked around for an hour or so before they kicked us out. Chris felt bad, so he went back in and bought some Chex mix. Really settled them down. We got back to Jeff’s house around 11. Jeff’s a gracious host and my best friend. I gave him a bottle of Sazerac, so we went ahead and drank all that too. He has a very nice kegerator in the kitchen, so we all had a few more beers to keep things goin’ smooth. Sometime around 2 am we had Jimmy Dean microwaveable breakfast bowl action and it was off to bed for a solid 2 hours of tossing and turning before it was time to drive to the boat ramp. Everybody is Ace. It’s 5 am, breakfast was a hotdog from Speedway with jalapenos, ketchup and mustard. Get to the ramp, everybody is still hammered, Joe has to get his gear together from the airport so it’s the first of many yard sales. 6 am Jeff, Joe and myself are heading up river, with Hunter, Tim & Chris right behind us. This is a place where one wrong move and your boat is totally fucked, maybe everybody dies. All solid rock fossil bed, no forgiving mistakes. Thankfully everyone was still hammered, yet focused. 6:30 am Thurs, we’re fishing. I’d promised everyone fish on the first cast, because that’s what a good host does… instill confidence in his guests. And everyone was confident. We moved around a bit so more first casts could happen. Lots of first casts and then we settled into a nice area, full of fish. I’m not sure what the fish were doing but they sure as shit weren’t eating. As dawn broke, what I had originally thought was a patch of cattails in the middle of the Ohio River turned out to be a duck boat. The only thing I could really make out through the mist was a white cowboy hat. What in the fuck is going on. This son of a bitch catches a fish and holds it up, yelling “THIS IS WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE BOYS!” We’re all drunk as shit and me personally, I say let’s roll up there and tell this guy to go fuck himself. Fish aren’t eating, may as well start some shit. We get about half way there and my phone lights up. Son of a bitch, it’s barrelcooker. We motor up, say hi and this guy hands me a pint of barrel proof Bulleit. Naturally. So we commence to pounding more bourbon at 7 am while the sun comes up. Hunter has some beer too, so we drink a few of those. Thunder Ann pale ales from nash vegas. Joe has his safety vest on, beer in hand. I’m ready to fish. So I prance across a couple boats and leap off into the rocks with my flip flops on. I fly through the air, landing on my back, flip flops shooting up into the sky before settling into the whitewater. Another boat catches them for me with their spin gear, but not before I try to stand up and totally fuck my right foot into pieces in the rocks. “broken”. Feeling no pain, I get back into the duck boat and gather one flop. Couple more swigs of the barrel proof, hop into the other boat and secure my other one. Now it’s a party. Facing defeat, we putt around a bit to a couple other spots, defying death at least twice before calling it quits. MF’r. We pull out and head to a killer local eatery for breakfast. I had two bloody mary’s, served in sealed mason jars by a very attractive woman with a single gold front tooth. That’s my boo. I had a lobster BLT. Joe had a cheeseburger. We all parted ways, barrelcooker sending us north with a bottle of barrel strength Bulleit to keep us warm on the ride up. I may have nodded off for 30 minutes on the 90 minute trek back to river militia headquarters, where showers were had, along with some beers and more whiskey. Joe, Tim & I shot some pool and discussed what the future may hold. My foot was purple and 2x normal size. I looked at Joe and asked.. Are you ready to take it to the next level? He nodded in approval, finishing another glass of bourbon, chasing it with a beer. It was time to head to camp. In some blur of amazing magic carpet shit, we all arrive at base camp, about an hour journey from my house. It’s gated and what amounts to an abandoned trailer park from the late 80’s, on the river. Joe & Tim have prepared pico & guac, using tomatoes & avocados Joe smuggled from California. 4 stars. Mike had arrived from NY, exotic cigars and whiskey in tow. At this point there may have been 20 bottles of whiskey on the picnic table, and a few were sampled. A car rolls up the dirt drive and a heavyset, handlebar moustached guy in a neon yellow sleeveless shirt jumps out and yells WHO THE FUCK IS SETH?! Everybody took turns saying “not me” and pointing at me so I knew I had to step up and say hi to big Kevin. He owns the place and is as country as they come. He gave me a big bear hug before pointing at the 4 story tall pile of pallets and said I want you to BURN THAT. I was confused, but he clearly meant burn that mountain of shit to the ground, nevermind the surrounding structures, powerlines, wildlife, etc. I poured him a glass of whiskey and had one myself. He tells me there is only one rule, and the rule is no guns. I assure him that there are absolutely no guns. Then I tell him I have a few guns with me but we won’t shoot them. He seems baffled. Kevin, Andrew and Tim B arrive somewhere in the fog. I had a few more beers leading up to dinner, which Tim had prepared using fresh peppers, steak and onions. I topped mine with pico. It was really stellar. Dessert was whiskey and beers, followed by Joe walking across the fire. Barefoot. Then he plopped down on the hammock, which was so dryrotted that he just flew through it onto the ground. We had a couple more beers and turned in for the night. I was in a borrowed tent, with just a sleeping bag and no pillow. Real luxury. I rolled around for a couple hours and it was time to get up & go fishing. At 5 am I realized I didn’t have anything with me except my fishing gear, so I poured some coffee into one of the guacamole bowls from the night before. It worked surprisingly well. Cooled off quickly and had a very “miso soup” sipping quality about it. Joe and I left camp, headed to the river to meet Joey, who has a nice pontoon, complete with 3.5 hp motor. Critical to moving upstream at a timely pace. I drove 120 mph the whole way. I pounded an IPA in the parking lot of the ramp, then barfed it out my nose onto the pavement. That’s about enough, I thought to myself. Joe donned his safety vest and camo duck jacket, before deploying his wading staff. Joey was already in the water with the boat, ready to make our journey upstream. The path would take us through some other killer water, which Dustin and Mike were going to fish. We moved stealthily, pulling the boat behind us as to not disturb the fish. We got above the other guys and loaded into the boat. Joey fired up the motor (for the first time ever) and it ran like a scalded dog. That lasted about 10 seconds, then it became apparent that it was just totally fucked. It immediately overheated, melting off the plastic oil cap, shooting oil into the river like a James Bond villain was following us. Joey started shouting ROWMOTHERFUCKER but I just wasn’t ready, so he took the middle seat from me and started to row his heart out, to no avail as we swept into the current and right through the other guys drift. Joey was paddling backwards through 10” deep water, shooting rocks in the air with each pull as we dug our way back up through the other guys fishing area. We wished them good luck as “we” rowed upstream, arriving at the destination around an hour later than we had anticipated. It looked really good, I knew Joe would have a fish on his first cast. We situated ourselves above the run and I walked Joe out to the spot. There was a new branch that was sticking up right above the magic spot where he would catch his fish on the first cast. I got into my bag and got my favorite fly out. I took a picture of it and explained to him that this was my favorite fly. Joe, you need to put it right there, behind that tree limb, right in the sweet spot. He nodded, finished another beer and waded out waist deep, casting the fly straight into the fucking tree limb. God damn it Joe, we just discussed this! We broke the fly off and retired to the bank for another beer. After a few more failed attempts, we all agreed it was time to head back down river. Joe & I had worked up quite the appetite, so we left the river and headed to a local establishment that serves chili. The server had really nice tits. I taught Joe my signature pick up line, “Damn girl…how many kids you got?” She was a good sport and brought us our food. Joe had his first cheese coney, a hotdog smothered in chili meat sauce & shredded cheddar cheese. He was pleased. We made it back to camp, where Andrew was picking his banjo. At this point, I’m pretty hammered. My foot is grotesquely deformed and black / purple. I think it’s funny. Tim is prepping dinner again, some herb & spice rubbed pork chops with fresh garlic. There’s a garbage bag full of frog legs on the table. Tim gives me some 120 minute IPA, to go with the other half dozen beers I’ve drank since arriving at camp. Mike and I have some Glenmorangie, and I make him drink some bourbon. Joe starts pulling firewood from the big pile over to our small pile, which is more or less under the fuckin’ awning of the camper. Rob fashions some foil wrapped bacon packets and puts them in the fire. At this point, the plastic furniture to wood ratio is way high and cooking over the fire would be highly discouraged. Rob retrieves his foil packs to find a David Blaine-like result, one pack has no bacon left in it, just a carbon footprint where it once was. The other pack has all the bacon in it, with one half completely raw, the other half burnt to fuck. Somehow I think it’s a good idea to sample it, breaking off a couple of the burnt slivers before tossing them in my mouth. I’ve never tasted something so awful in my entire life. It was like burnt plastic and petroleum products cured into some type of oily substrate. I had to gargle bourbon to get the carcinogens off my palate. The bag of frog legs materialized into a foil dish of the best fried food I’ve ever had, period. My friends Greg & Dustin spent hours spearing the little helpless fuckers and cutting their legs off for this moment. It was truly glorious. Everyone can attest to that. I had some more beers and a whiskey before the actual dinner commenced. Somehow there was still more to happen, how I have no idea. Tim was slaving away, making pork chops and some fancy brussel sprout shit. It got ate so fast I had to kind of stir my finger around in the empty pan to taste it, but it was really good. I took the license plate off my car and burnt it, then Yuki got his fuckin’ tuba out. I have to admit I was really impressed. It’s like a $30k tuba and Dan & I discussed with Yuki how much he would pay for it at a pawn shop, after we stole and hocked it. Chris started up a hand rolled cigarette rolling contest, which I won by stuffing 4 x the amount of tobacco as everyone else into a huge spliff. Then I smoked it. Pretty sure my lungs were bleeding for the remainder of the event, as this shit was not meant to be smoked in a spliff. More drinks were consumed. This is about the time that the fire needed stoked. By stoked, I mean it needed a furniture set thrown upon it. So that happened. A sofa, an ottoman, etc. Someone shouted that Joe should sit on it, and of course he did. I scrambled to get a picture while Joe was burning to death. I dropped my phone, and even though I knew it was life and death I still requested he sit tight while I find my phone. He did, and the pictures turned out great. There’s the one of him sitting on the couch smiling, and then there’s the one where he is jumping up like a jack rabbit as the couch bursts into 40 foot tall flames. At this point, apparently I was the only one that became nervous. Everyone else thought it was hilarious, but when the metal roof of the camper started to buckle & melt, it was a real eye opener. I thought to myself..how in the holy fuck am I the only one here that thinks the entire camp is going to burn down?! I’m not sure if everyone thought it was funny or was just oblivious, but it was about to be a 5 alarm, news story type fire. Multiple campers, the woods, everything gone. I quickly figured out that even though I was concerned, I was also really hammered and so I just laughed along with everyone else. We dodged a bullet on that one. Couch fires burn quick, fyi. More beers were had, and 3 am was here before we knew it. It was just Joe, Greg and myself. Greg had been telling Joe about a spot about an hour away, when Joe enquired “when do you think we should go there?” Naturally, Greg said “now”. We piled into Greg’s truck and hit the road, eager to get a fish on the first cast. It was destiny. It was a long trip, riddled with stops at gas stations for fuel, ice cream cones and packs of gum. We arrived at our destination, where we finished off the bottle of Glenlivet 18 & a few Budweisers before making the hike in. We made our way down to the choice water, where I knew my first cast would be the one. I picked my spot, double hauled and shot the double deceiver straight into a goddamn rootball on the opposite bank. At this point it was pure comedy, but only if you were watching from afar, because in my head it was pure rage. I was looking for things to break, things to throw but there was nothing I could do. I broke the fly off and stared at it for 10 minutes. Fuck that fly. I’m going to swim across this roaring ditch of rebar & concrete and get that motherfucker back. My blood alcohol level is somewhere near 4 at this point, anything is possible. I take my belt off, lash two rods to some overhanging branch. Put my wallet and other shit in my pack and tie it in a tree too. Survey my surroundings, yep. It’s a fucking river. Dive in head first, hat, glasses on. No fucks given, breast stroke through some pretty gnarly shit. Miss a big hook of rebar, dig my fingernails into rock on the opposite bank, a 12’ deep channel of whitewater. There’s the fly. Got it… kick off… and then it’s just Zen. I’m floating on my back through some rapids, toes in the air. Fully clothed, baffled what in the fuck is even going on… I float right through this guys bait spread, looking him in the face and ask if he’s getting’ any bites. Crawl out of the tailout, a little bruised but highly satisfied. Everybody agrees it’s probably time to go. Apparently on the way out I spinkicked a new path through some dense poison ivy. Still dealing with that too. So we drive the hour back to camp, no sleep, it’s daylight, covered in poison ivy & blood, soaking wet. It’s 11 am, I have two magnums of Weller open, pouring them in my mouth.

Then Joe says… You gotta come see what they’re doing down at the river…
____________________________________________________________________________________
I love flyfishing so much I want it to die. -thalweg

Isn't it TIME?

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T.J. Brayshaw
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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by T.J. Brayshaw » Sun Aug 20, 2017 6:14 am

fallen513 wrote:
Sun Aug 20, 2017 1:46 am
I got my bourbon and rushed home for the last 6 minutes of alone time
You said you did it 7 times that day. Makes sense now.

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T.J. Brayshaw
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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by T.J. Brayshaw » Sun Aug 20, 2017 6:50 am

Funny thing is, reading this is making me nervous. Like shit could go really, really bad. Even though I was there and I know it all worked out OK in the end.

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RockyMtHigh
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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by RockyMtHigh » Sun Aug 20, 2017 7:38 am

Pictures to support the report above
Attachments
Love seat.jpg
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Weller.jpg
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wait...what? fuck - Fatman

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pxatim
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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by pxatim » Sun Aug 20, 2017 1:14 pm

Some fuck skimmed my cc and western unioned themselves $1500.

Fuck Ohio.

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Redchaser
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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by Redchaser » Sun Aug 20, 2017 1:32 pm

pxatim wrote:
Sun Aug 20, 2017 1:14 pm
Some fuck skimmed my cc and western unioned themselves $1500.

Fuck Ohio.
Probably Seth, you seen that slab of Toro he picked up $$$$
"... don’t let your life become the sloppy leftovers of your work" Jim Harrison

"Put in the effort and good things happen"... Hogleg

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Re: First Annual River Militia Bake - SW Ohio

Post by Average Joe » Sun Aug 20, 2017 1:44 pm

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