I'm no technology expert, but there's obviously a piece of code that kicks in whenever I enter some photos and content, hit "Preview" more than once, and then hit "Submit."
I suspect it goes something like this.
Is this Asian spam?
If Yes, allow.
If No, does this post contain non-fishing-related content?
If Yes, allow.
If No, deny access.
That's the way to run a fly fishing message board my friends.
Lando wrote: ↑Mon Oct 30, 2017 3:09 pm
Joe, I am glad to see that you at least mowed the lawn for the wife's birthday.
It was a special birthday, so I also bought her a new washer and dryer.
Don't ever say that romance is dead.
And now (with any luck), back to our story.
I've found I need more sleep nowadays.
Unless I'm in Ohio.
Not as much sleep as Mitch of course, but more than I used to survive on when I was working.
I woke up late the next morning, and Cornholio was already cooking breakfast.
I stumbled over all of the gear I had scattered across the floor the previous day, and sat down to an excellent meal of fried eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, and juice. He also put out some sweet rolls, yogurt, and some stuff I can't remember. It was like being in a restaurant. Something for everyone.
Because I'd slept in we were well behind schedule, so after breakfast I hurriedly grabbed my gear and jumped into Cornholio's truck.
We spent the next hour driving over mountains on a very nasty road.
Cornholio did a great job of avoiding the boulders and staying out of the ruts, but it was slow going.
When we reached our destination we discovered that the early risers had beat us to the stretch of river we'd hoped to fish, so we came up with a "Plan B" and found some water that was unoccupied by both fishermen and trout.
It was about this time that I discovered I'd left my camera, a bunch of flies, and some other stuff buried in the gear pile back at the cabin.
I took this as a sign that I have way too much shit.
After beating the water for a couple of hours without success, we headed back to the truck.
As I was savoring a beer, Cornholio spread some pocket-bread and a variety of lunch meats out on the tailgate. He also put out some chocolate chip cookies and some stuff I can't remember.
We'd parked in a semi-flat area next to an old stone fire pit, and someone had left a bunch of cut-and-split oak piled between the trees
After some more beers, a cigar, and a nap, we both said, "Fuck this place."
We threw the oak into the back of the truck and headed off to another spot on a different piece of water.
An hour and a half later Cornholio parked the truck, and after a fifteen minute walk we jumped into the river.
Cornholio went to work high-sticking the pocket water, and during the next hour or so he stuck a number of fish before I yelled, "I need to get back to the cabin so I can start getting dinner ready!"
What I left out was, "What are you doing? It's 5:00 PM: time for cocktails."
He dropped me off at the cabin and then went back out and fished until dark.
I was still chopping shit up for pico and guac when he came back, so he grabbed a knife and quickly helped me finish the job.
He looked at the meat and beans simmering on the stove and the ribs in the oven and said, "Shit man. That's a lot of food."
"I still need to heat up the buttered corn. Find me a pot."
"Don't do it."
"How about some Caesar salad?"
"Fuck that. Save that shit for Mitch."
His advice proved prudent, because we barely made a dent in the food I put out.
After dinner I pulled out some Nestle toll house cookie dough and said, "How about I bake these up for dessert?"
"Dude, I'm stuffed. Don't do it. Besides, I'm not feeling well."
"You need some more booze, and we need to heat this place up."
He poured himself a glass of scotch, and I threw three pieces of wood into the stove.
Within minutes we were both sweating from the incredible amount of heat coming from that little piece of cast iron, and after another nightcap or two, we turned in.