Rust Thou Art and to Rust Thou Returnest
Posted: Sun Mar 08, 2020 8:23 pm
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
****************************************************************************************
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...
Finding barns for Harrington,
Dreaming of fish,
And visiting secret passages taking one to the thin places where rainheads dwell.
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.
The wait and the dreaming...
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...
With deference,
My contribution...
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
The propers
More rust to follow
Returning to the scene of the crime and stolen lunches
****************************************************************************************
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...
Finding barns for Harrington,
Dreaming of fish,
And visiting secret passages taking one to the thin places where rainheads dwell.
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.
The wait and the dreaming...
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 piss
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...
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...
With deference,
My contribution...
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
The propers
More rust to follow
