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sheening v. 1. the terms “sheened” and “sheening” connote partying, questionable decision-making and public humiliation.
The New York Times

Wetsville, WA—The loop of fly line hung just below my reel, pinched between my index finger and thumb. The line straightened against the eyelets of my rod and the spool on my reel gave line. One turn. Two turns. I stopped breathing. Time halted. My pupils dilated and my heart raced.

Don Gable Merkin win

Capt. Don Gable (LTD on The Drake message board) and angler Mike Dawes recently clinched first place at the esteemed, 6th annual March Merkin permit tourney held at the Key West Harbour Yacht Club. The duo landed three fish in three days. Twenty-six guide/angler teams competed in the event, which saw a total of ten fish caught.

A Carptribe Kick-Off

He’s like Johnny fuXXing Appleseed.

But he’s a purveyor of big, bad, brown apples.

It’s a lifestyle thing

There is a point of rock at a riffle that pours into a run that digs against a bluff that’s abutted by a dirt road that leads to a town of seven where we sit at a table drinking Jack and Cokes inside a warm bar.

Outside, inclement weather straddles the Afghanistan-like landscape that in March eats 4X4 vehicles in drifts of snow and where the earth’s last-remaining trout had survived the apocalypse that is now.

Bats, peeper frogs, night birds, lizards, snakes, scorpions, and giant night beetles—those are the jungle sounds I had identified in my fevered brain. As I lay on my back in the inky darkness, they were the only audible sounds next to the distant crush of ocean 400 feet down the mountainside.

My eyes blinked against a cold bead of perspiration that rolled from my forehead. I was sweating bullets, but freezing. When I coughed my entire body shuttered. I blinked again and raised my head to make out the time through the mosquito-netting cocoon. Three AM? Four AM? Maybe….

—With Charlie Sheen

For many of us Valentine's Day is a three-headed monster whereby we, A) either F it up royally; B) nail it on the head and proceed to F it up royally; or C) spend time alone, pining and pathetic, getting F’d up royally. In light of these no-win scenarios, The Drake recently turned to notorious actor/call-girl connoisseur Charlie Sheen for advice on dodging V-Day bullets with an eye on survival—sans litigation and rehab repercussions. Say what you want about Sheen, but there’s no questioning his talents when it comes to sidestepping trouble and popping the cork on foolhardy fun.

Background: Yellowstone cutthroat are in serious decline in Yellowstone Lake largely thanks to predation from an exploding population of invasive, non-native lake trout. Numbers of cutthroat in the Yellowstone Lake ecosystem have dropped to less than five percent of the historic population. 25 years ago, spawning returns in the Clear Creek tributary were 50,000 fish per year. Current returns in the same tributary are less than 500 fish.

We had the winter itch. It needed to be scratched. So scratch we did.

I’m not usually big into winter fishing. I’ve spent the vast majority of my life’s winter months in the mountains—riding a snowboard. It’s not I’m against fishing in the winter, it’s simply that I like being on the side of a mountain, better than almost anything else on this planet. It has been like this since I was three years old.

Has this whole thing become just a little overly serious? It’s hard to imagine, but I continue seeing far too many anglers on the river who can barely be distracted to acknowledge a fellow angler, focused on the serious task at hand, or treating others like competition. Those who give the look of suspicion, as if you’re thieving something from them as you walk past on the bank. Too much elitism. Too much internal divisiveness. Too many petty Internet chat board battles. Too many people who have confused gear with what’s really important. Too many who’ve become focused on the importance of “industry” over actual fishing. Too many bitter guides bitching about their source of income (otherwise known as clients). Worse, too many guides who think they’re hot shit, instead of a humble steward of the river. And with increasing frequency, marketing that depicts stern, brow-knit men going about the very serious business of fishing (apparently, that is what it has become for them). Don’t even get me started on your average steelheader.