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#697856
And the Fatman thinks HE is late. Trouts and spring on the horizon so here's some reminders.
Returning to the scene of the crime and stolen lunches




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Had been two years since I last went on a grand tour of WNY thanks to some retard navigation app, road construction detours, and off ramps that served as on ramps also. That hiatus, as it turned out, was more of an existential grind and conspired to keep me away from water...

Renovations of a mid-Nineteenth C. Victorian, three surgical procedures, the passing of the family dog, and prepping the house for the market, permitted only imagined fish.

During that time however, I made opportunities to begin perfecting my Nihari...

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Finding barns for Harrington,
Dreaming of fish,
And visiting secret passages taking one to the thin places where rainheads dwell.

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Our move to a smaller, more sedate community found us just up the hill on the other side of a secret bay where carp rise all through the summer.

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The wait and the dreaming...

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So on occasion, I looked in on some of your adventures here which proved much needed food for the soul...strong juju, good mana, and a touchstone.
Seems we can always count on the generosity of good men here despite the short comings of the medium. In fact, too often the medium is bemoaned for exacerbating any number of delinquencies that don't quite suit some of us (well some of the limp dicks anyway). While away and encumbered by the grinding everydayness of it all, I happened across a female angler's podcast where she interviewed someone of some "distinction" here (sneer quotes added for emphasis); he got on some jam about how the internet had ruined it all, ruined "his" sport, ruined fly fishing. Some of us here may have heard that life-extinguishing, nihilistic drivel...fuck that and fuck him. It was really the last thing I needed to hear.

Our fraternal piety binds us together and will always transcend the effort by a petulant and mendacious few to slash and burn–it's why we come back here (dead though it may be). In your charity you reject the petty nihilism that denies value in these platforms and reject the somnambulant acceptance that truth is besieged and forever only "relative," and in so doing, that when we drift through the agora with a lantern in the daylight looking for an "honest man," we may find him here.
And so I will be always thankfull for "The River Rambler," Stillsteamin's "Off to the Side," Wandering's pics of the Southwest, Ruddy and G's bote builds, Joe's many travails and deck pissersants, the Fatman for being like uhmmm fat, among others.

And so:
I will never pursue Redfish unless off Red's deck...
And want to carpfly from Lando's Slut...
When in Michigan cast from the "Wooden Shoe..."
Skullions is never the Madhatter, because there's always room at his dinner table...
I can expect a considered and informed response from Josh who, Young Thor thinks is cool because he digs Sleep...
Friendships from Oz to Patagonia that elevate me...
Nick, who sends me down to holding water and describes the structure so my swing might touch a fish...
Fatman rides shotgun (almost dying with me) and explains the more nuanced relationships between the house and senate...
Seth broadcasting to the world his destruction of prized diver's scallops...
Tranny's Instaghey video feeds...
Shonney's My glassware...

Many I haven't seen for some time, but am also assured that it will seem like only last week we shotgunned some ale, burned furniture, or stole someone's lunch...
Some I've not met at all but the Scotch, fire, flies and conversation awaits...

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With deference,
My contribution...

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Made the sprint across the big river...
Clearly not "sprinty" enough as I arrived a little too late to catch the seniors awake...
So yeah, slept in the car, as folks in the their twenties do.


Arrival

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The propers

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More rust to follow
Last edited by CC Riebeeck on Tue Mar 17, 2020 9:29 am, edited 1 time in total.
#697857
I’m seriously considering getting a tattoo of your prose. And thanks for the nod. Many a time, teh suk has been the monofilament to which I grasp for a day on the water. I totally get it.

:cool
#697858
Very nice Exmachinia, and yeah, you need to come catch a redfish. The bow is yours.
#697863
For those who didn't make the date, well
Ya missed Skulls serving up a stellar crumble...

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Weather and conditions conspired but fish were brought to hand...
Brent who had not touched a fish in some 18 months got invited to the dance, while HPFF swung through into fish as well.

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I waded down from the Dead Cat Pool where, unfortunately, no dead cats were to be found.
End of the day and Josh was on an 0-fer, as he mined the run I followed along the bank yelling,
"Eat it, you fuck!!!"

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Temps were on the drop so Brent was on a quest for fire

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HPFF and I walked back up to Dead Cat to swing through a smaller run distinguished by a nice gut carved away from a shale ledge...
Jeff and I watched active fish rising and told him I would follow up behind him.
I tagged up and jumped in...several casts later we watched as my fly was swept over the shale ledge at the top of the swing; the take was hard and immediate.
"That fly was swung perfectly, I just knew you'd be on man," he said. The Peerless however was still exhibiting an annoying squeal not unlike the elevated train negotiating a corner in Chicago. "Awww man, its a damned shame, that beautiful reel has to make that sound...and with that fish too," he said. The pain etched on his face made me laugh quietly...

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What's Rust without a little squeak.
Jeff grabbed a few quick pics with his camera...no wait...
So that evening Brent provided his masterful reel maintenance...stripped her down, lubed it...and no doubt a “happy ending.”

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Promise of days...

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