Tuesday, March 24, 2009

It's not about where you live..... Wait, yea it is.

Monday, march 23rd 8:45pm: You turn into your driveway, navigate around the overflowing recycling bin and pull your late model POS into the carport, home from another day of whatever. Another Monday in the infinity of shitty Mondays that seems to define your life.

It has been weeks since you have been out fishing and you still haven’t put away your crap from the last trip, which is taking up a large portion of the kitchen counter along with fast-food wrappers, plastic cups and the occasional hot sauce packet from the overpriced burrito stand across the street.

Putting it away would be admitting defeat, so you leave it alone and continue to your office to fire up your computer machine and be whisked away into the interweb-of-life where you can try to forget about how lame your existence has felt lately.

Just spam in the email; nobody loves you. Your mouse quickly navigates it’s way around your bookmarks in search of anything that will help alleviate the pain in your head.

Everything is as it should be: Jean-Paul is beating up carp, the Angels are throwing flies at steelhead in some awesome place, Keith is eloquently questioning the merits of something or another, Matt is drinking micro-brew and making videos, Buster is trying to get lazy fisherpeople to swell their brain doing crossword puzzles by promising stickers and increased feminine company, and so on. But it doesn’t help, not today.

It starts to get to you: Every image of water holding people holding large fish starts to cut into your soul.

Every tale on every river, lake, casting, catching, reels spinning, flies flying, fish jumping, running, flopping on the shore: it all takes a little piece.

Every hero shot, every grip and grin, every stinky net is another little nudge towards the edge.

Then it happens, you come across a photo of some guy in Utah holding an unnaturally large rainbow trout with a huge shit-eating grin and you lose it. The stages of fishing jealousy set in.

First shock: “Holy Shit that’s a huge fish!”

Then Denial: “There is no freeking way that lame-ass caught a trout that big, it was probably foul hooked anyways.”

Then Anger: “That’s bullshit! That totally should be me, and what’s that douche got that I don’t? I hope he chokes on a Slim Jim.”

Then Bargaining: “I will sell my car, my blood, my body, my kidneys on the black market whatever it takes to fish somewhere awesome. Then I can be cool, right? Then people will like me, right? You got to help me, I need this! I will do anything! Anything I tell you!”

Then Guilt: “I suck, and I live in a suck place, and I suck as fishing, and it’s all my fault. If only I would have gotten out sooner, or didn’t spend all my money on hookers and blow…. I deserve to live in this stupid desert.”

Then finally you accept it. It could be worse, right? At least you’re able to fish at all, and you have caught some sweet slabs.....

You stand up, chug a beer, and punch yourself in the face for being such a whiney bitch.

You have to realize that it is about where you live, but not in the way you think.

Badassness can be found anywhere, especially if you live somewhere that is not known for great fishing.

So fuck your inbox, screw your shitty day, to hell with the dirty kitchen and your overdue utility bills. Call your friends, grab your shit, get out there, drink beer and beat the waters to a froth.

And even if you don’t catch any records, don’t worry: You won’t even notice because you will be too busy kickin’ ass.

-Alex who cares about your sanity.


  1. it's a 4 hr drive for me to the gila wilderness, but i'm going if i catch some decent weather this week. screw the house work. it's almost on the az/nm border. how far is that from u?

  2. Alex my brother,

    You have hit the proverbial nail on the head with this one. I live in what would be considered a semi-arid region. Fishing, though not necessarily good fishing, can be found around here, but usually it involves at least an hour and a half one way drive. I don’t mind that so much as I do the wind. I’m talking wind that makes your toilet water white cap.

    Personally, I’m in the “Bargaining” and partial “Guilt” stages. I’d have no problem selling organs to get out of here if the price is right. Although I do suck and live in a sucky place, I refuse to think I deserve to live here. There is no way in the world you’re gonna get me to step into “Acceptance” mode. I harbor great loathing in my heart for the lack of close fishing opportunities. I’m getting out…. Even if it kills me.

    Until then though, screw the wind and the drive. I’ll be out there kickin’ its collective ass hunkered down below a bluff tossing a nymph at bluegill or twitching a streamer over bedding bass.


  3. Fucking A. All this brownline talk. I'll tell you what dude, I live in Indiana. INDIANA.

    Though wiper on the fly are pretty badass. BADASS.

    You know Fishpond is based in Kansas? KANSAS.

    How far are you from the Gila? THE GILA.

  4. My company had me work at the Tucson site for two weeks once a couple of years ago. Frankly, I am surprised you haven't shot yourself yet. Y'all had one Orvis shop in town and I would hang out there from time to time and ask the owner where y'all go to fish since it seems the only water around was underground. He mentioned Colorado was good. Colorado?! Seriously? I feel for you Alex. You are welcome to join us in Texas anytime. Then the only difficult decisions you will be making is do I fish fresh water this weekend or hit the salt? Peace.

  5. That's funny that Eric over at the Orvis shop said that, it totally sounds like something he would say. But if I ever wind up in Texas I will probably be knocking on your door looking for beer.

    Matt, dude.... what? WHAT?

    Dane, wind is a total jerk, but I am glad to hear your hanging in there, if only by a thread.

  6. Location, location....bullshit. Doesn't matter WHAT you're angling...as long as you get your line wet. If all else fails, scope your neighbors for a coy pond and get some midnight guerilla fishing in if need be.

  7. love it, love it, love it... I live in Utah and I say that same crap when I see those huge fish. Usually I am thinking of how and the hell am going to convince my wife to move to Montana.

  8. Check it out...Red Neck Sonoran Fat Dudes, I feel your pain. I moved to Tucson from Spokane in late 03 to peddle RV's, then cars, thinking I would sacrifice my outdoor life for something more lucrative and HATED IT! FF to today...I live in New Castle, CO and fly fish/spin cast the Colorado and Roaring Fork 100 days per year - no bullshit. Here is my day: work, stop by the fly shop for lunch, get off, stop at the liquor store to load my insulated around-the-neck six pack holder, stuff the 2 extra long necks in the vest (don't worry, they don't get warm), I've already scouted where I want to be so the 96 Discovery is on the river quick. BTW, my gear would NEVER make it outside the Disco, let alone end up in my kitchen - I could just see myself tripping over the 5wt and cracking it in half in a drunken stupor while scrounging for a cold one. Then we tie our shit on and nymp for a couple of hours til the big hatches start poppin - then it's game on.

    Here's the deal, I don't care if you suck at fly fishing, if you dry heat pussies want to get away from monsoon season for a weekend then make the 11 hour road trip and I promise you will be blown away. When we catch fish they are usually 14" +++ browns that fight like godzilla - biggest in hand for me last year was a 26" Rainbow. 17" is not uncommon. They are soldiers and deserve a splash of brew before you release them. Plus you need to thank them for not biting your shit off.

    From now until mid May then from July on it's like a fishing frat party. Here is my email address: fuelrider@gmail.com. Let me know when you want to come. Here is where I tell all my lies: www.roaringforkanglers.com, and here is where is the rowdiest bar west of Denver: http://www.myspace.com/trailsendtavern.

    All I ask is that when you go home you drop off a bag of wild asparagus at my folks place at Trails West off Kolb.

    Get back to me NOW!


    btw, It's ALL about where you live.

  9. Dry heat pussies? Haha! Don't make me have Kyle drive up from Deckers and sit on you.

  10. Just tell me when he leaves so I have fair warning. Besides, not likely he will make it unless he brings a snowmobile since it's dumping snow.


What sayeth you?