Come hang out.

I am fortunate enough to have a print hanging in the Surface Film III gallery this year, held in Denver to benefit the conservation group The Greenbacks.

This is not mine. Photo: Nate Luke

...

-Alex who thinks you should come hang out.

Coulda Been a Contender

Walt Redman called that fucker in, and the son of a bitch just about jumped into the truck. He stood about twenty yards from us, grunting and snorting, bloodshot eyes, covered in piss.

He had just been talking to her from down in the valley. Then he heard some other asshole bugling up here with her and he came to see about that. She was here somewhere; that pretty little cow elk that he had heard talking all slutty.

He got to the top of the hill and stopped.

What the hell is this? He stared, still quivering with desire. Who are these bastards? Two big metal bastards and three two-legged bastards standing up here all alone in the early morning light.

He stomped the ground and turned slightly, grunting. Something ain’t right, he knew now. The wind shifted and he caught the scent and turned his big head bolted down the hill, pussy be damned this shit smelled dangerous and he got out of here.

That was Tuesday. Elk season stated Friday. That randy kid wasn’t going to be tricked a second time. No sir.

Friday morning we hit the call, waved, and said hello from 425 yards as he turned and walked away, knowingly. That was the end of that.

I will become a better elk hunter. Yes. I will.



-Alex who will never be okay with 2am as a "get up" time.

Interspecies erotica and nine knuckles deep; a pre-pre-slam shortie.

It is not strange, by definition, if it is expected.

The pre-pre slam activities are progressing as expected, for the most part.

Cakes caked.

Party is happening.

Reynolds showing why he is the man.

Fish is happening.

JPL like a mofo

Nine-Knuckle Gangstas are abound. (You probably want to know, but you can't.)

And then there is the other stuff...

Luchadors in action

DSP Dirty Love.

-Alex who always knows how it will be, but is always a little surprised.

accessorize like a man

Like, OMG Karen! It even matches his hip and stylish Patagonia sweater! That guy is so awesome we should take our clothes off in his presence.

It could happen.

-A

WelcomF Cake

Her last words rang in my mind over and over. Like a mystic chant. Like the answer to a prayer as their car sped away.

Here you don’t think about the fact that you haven’t showered this week when you are walking to the bar in the dark with a drink in your hand. You don’t think about time. Only light and dark. Only rain and shine. Only high and low. Is the water in the woods? It looks like it is coming down, yeah? Not really.

Dirty water travels at the speed of inevitability.

The wind was cold all day. The sun seemed to struggle and apologize through the clouds. Twenty-eight when the sun came up. Twenty-eight when the hot dogs huddled for warmth on the small bank-side propane grill. Twenty-eight when the ice cubes chilled the last sip of whiskey in your mouth. Twenty-eight when you set the hook on nothing in particular and wanted to look around and ask someone “why?” but nobody respects a petulant angler so you try hard and keep your mouth shut.

Out in the street the middle-aged women in the silver SUV had asked questions about fishing but we knew what they were really after; It takes a special brand of gal to brake for sweet hot stinky rubber-legged man-meat on the side of the road.

 “We will have cake,” they had said as the car sped away. And something about a birthday party at Bud’s bar… and cake. I remember clearly the part about cake.

It was like a weight lifted. We will have cake. A burden alleviated. We will have cake. Feeling down? We will have cake. Work hard for little to show for it? We will have cake. Empty inside? Fill it with cake.

Steelhead are like the promise of cake by strangers on the side of the road.

We fished and were men in Michigan: Men with bad habits and fly rods and low-fill beers and bacon and Frosted Mini Spooners; Men with strong coffee and stronger wills and a need for water like a shot of whiskey when wet boots are shed on kitchen linoleum; Men who are still and will always be confused about the proper use of the colon and semicolon. Men as real as it gets.

Life in Michigan has a strong nose, with powerful mouth feel and notes of blood and dirt and salt, a sweetness that can sometimes finish bitterly as it slides down your throat and becomes a little more of who you will be when you die. To the refined pallet it is the most delicious nourishment of all.

We walked to the bar that night. We hunted the flavor combinations of our existence under sodium-vapor lamps and past rusty cars to the place called Bud’s. There was no cake. No cake. But it didn't matter for our hearts were full and we dined on friendship and PBR and were lifted by the beauty of things and cohesion and stuff and other happy horseshit and whatever. But seriously, you shouldn’t lie about cake.

-Alex who forgives but never forgets - ladies without cake - but did find some steel:

Read more, actual reportage from The Smythster.

Purdy pictures:


If you are viewing this post in a feed reader you are probably missing the slideshow. 

Enthusiastic corruption of the public good.

Mr. Smythe of fishingpoet.com had a couple video machines in Michigan. On these video machines, he took some videos, then passed the files along to Mr. Dunn and myself to put together our own edits.

Sit back, relax, and enjoy the goodness.



Word to your Marquette from AlexLandeen on Vimeo.



CRAZY IVAN from fishbeer on Vimeo.



Dunn. Landeen. Smythe. Looking for fish. from fishingpoet on Vimeo.


-Alex who is pretty sure that this level of videographic awesomeness has ever existed in one place before.

TFM Groping

It is kinda like TFM spotting, but instead of having someone take a photo of you sporting the shirt, you drink a lot of alcohol and then fondle/molest someone wearing one.

I, in fact, have this contest won forever because I started at the top, the highest level, the peak of the mountain with the Man Cam himself. It's like spelling Chuck Norris in scrabble. You win for life.

-Alex who was thinking about stealing one of those onion rings so hard.

Port Sulphur, In Some Particular Order of Epicness

Ziiiip. Push. Pause.

The sound of the wrapped push-pole reminded Alex of a guiro as it slid through the guide’s gloved hands.

Ziiiip. Push. Pause.

The boat crept along through stained water near the bank where birds and small creatures watched suspiciously. Alex removed his sunglasses and squinted into the glare as he wiped water spots from his lenses with the tail of his shirt. There were small faded purple stains on the yellow/green fabric. Fish blood. Why did it turn purple? He didn’t know. Those bonitos always seemed to bleed but he liked the stains. They added legitimacy to the garment. He snugged the glasses back on his face and looked back over his left shoulder at the man on the poling platform.

 Ziiiip. Push. Pause.

Shane Mayfield stood above the outboard and stared at the clouds. “Burn off, you mothers,” he said again. The sun’s rays snuck through the grey checkerboard, brightening the landscape and briefly illumination the muddy shallow bottom before being once again blocked by the hanging vapor.

Something unseen ran from the boat leaving little swirls of mud hanging in the water. Cody pointed.

“Sheepshead,” Shane said, and again turned his attention toward the sky. “C’mon you mothers. Burn off.”

Alex stood on the casting platform and stared at gray reflections on the brackish water.

Two days. How long is that? Can you build a relationship with a landscape in 48 hours? Is a three-night -stand getting serious? Will she expect you to call? Come on, baby. Let me see what you got under that blue dress in that stained water. We’re just gonna pole around your marsh for a while, take a little look-see. No harm in that, is there?

This, Plus This, Plus These

Morgan Tattoo Rum, Plus Arizona Green Tea, makes Kyle a happy man. Also makes sea monkeys on Mars much more interesting

Aaron pensils out DWD 4.0

-Alex for Aaron who took like three hours to finish the shading on her upper lip.

A thing you should do.

Step 1: Purchase and slow cook to perfection 10lbs of beef ribs.

Step 2: Eat 10lbs of beef ribs.

Step 3: Be awesome.

-Alex who is feeling pretty awesome at the moment.

Shelter Island... I am coming

5 more days until Dad and I arrive at Shelter Island.
Downrigging of the boat during the day.
Fly fishing the evening.

More to come...

Carp Slammed 2011

“Carpin’ is hard.” – Michael Gracie

“This shit is easy.” – Nate Taylor

“It’s all about the beat.” – Trevor Tanner

August 28th 2011, 12:20AM
I wouldn’t say that Bruce Smithhammer and I ran from the uniformed officer in the lobby of the Hyatt hotel but we did walk fairly quickly toward the glass revolving doors with a I-don’t-know-that-guy look on our faces as Gracie retrieved the line, reel, and fly rod from the polished tile floor. The Bombay martini in the Peaks Lounge seemed to have weakened Will’s resolve, but we weren’t going to let him change his mind. You bought this ticket, my friend.

Knucklehead

It doesn't matter how much you want there to be big bass which reside in the weeds near the bank and eat frogs. What you want doesn't mean squat and when you watch a 5 pounder follow the eight incher that ate a chernobyl ant up to the boat it makes you feel a little silly upon hindsight. Just take another sip of whiskey and keep throwing your frogs on that tarpon rod you optimistic knucklehead. Maybe today will be your day.

Manly behaviour

How it's done.

Skirt steak, lamb chops, sweet potatoes, shrimp, asparagus. All on the grill. All ready to plate at the same time.

That's pro.

Happy 4th.





-Alex who learned from the best.

Think Hard.

-Alex who knows it has been far too long since he served up some 'toon goodness.

Wrinkleneck 22 and the most epic post in FGFF history.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 18

The day had started innocently enough and a medium-fat rain precipitated as the car tent was erected. At the time I appreciated the weather and contribute the unusual number of people willing to help assemble the canopy to an urge to mooch a dry spot while at the same time receiving a gold star for helping.

Wet wood was gathered and split, and the fire was lit with the help of some purloined generator gasoline which resulted in only minor casualties including but not limited to a few shoelace fuzzies and one nalgene bottle worth of hose water.

The afternoon wandered off but the clouds loitered.  The intermittent rain became mixed with enough sleet and hail to harass the burning pine in the washtub fireplace, sizzling and pinging on the coated steel.

go time

It's here. Again. And I am ready. Have been ready, it feels, for too long.

There is nothing worse than idle anticipation, having already done the shopping and packed the truck days before.

For the last 48 hours I have been wandering around aimlessly between the tying bench, the refrigerator and the gear room searching for anything to keep my eyes off the clock.

Tie some gaps in the trout boxes, make a drink, loiter in the yard, scratch myself, rearrange the contents of my bag. Repeat.

But now the time has come, my friends. The 22nd Annual Wrinkleneck Tournament is here and I am headed out tomorrow as early as I can stand, Kyle and Aaron heading out a little later in the day.

Time for Team Fat Guys to once again bring the pain.

-Alex who plans on bringing home the 1st place trophy again just to be a dick.

things...

Lately at the vise I seem to have been a little distracted. With the days warming I have been occupied with tying large things. Wiggly things. Long, swimming things and things that pop and push water like a greasy fat kid on a water park slide...

...all the while neglecting the most basic necessities of any fresh water fly collection.

The bugger is a staple and most likely the first thing you shakily stumbled through on a borrowed vise, forgoing the whip-finish for just a big blob of superglue. Everything eats buggers. I am low on buggers.

Thing #1 - tying buggers.

I like this beer. I like the label and it reminds me of wholesome things; of clean soil that lives in the little dents and cracks of rocks worn smooth by ancient water, of fields of golden tall grass in the afternoon, of soft Midwestern sunsets that I have never seen but imagine are very beautiful.

I like the name. MOTHERSHIP. It has incalculably size and potential, pushing through the interstellar nothingness at two-third the speed of light.

At a predetermined date the flight computer will fire the auxiliary thrusters and rotate the craft one-hundred-and-eighty degrees to begin the deceleration burn. The main drives will fire for eight years, slowing the ship to running speed before the flight crew is woken to make preparations for entering your mouth.

It is tasty in my mouth. Especially with spring rolls.

Thing #2 - drinking beer.

I saw my neighbor talking to the mailman and felt sorry for the guy. My neighbor is lonely and ruthless in his quest for people to talk at and the poor mailman has no choice but to walk through the mans front yard six days a week. Easy prey.

He stands holding his little blind dog, slippers kicking around the dust telling you about residents in the neighborhood steeling money from the dresser draws of dead people, about his "nigger friends" because "that's how we used to say it down south", about how young folk can't name any of the supreme court justices and that people used to know things.

You nod and contribute the occasional "yeah" or "un huh" and think about the fact that the new issue of BloodKnot is out and you would like to check it out but you may never get the chance. You make your move and start slowly backing away towards the sanctity of your carport.

The Blue Collar Issue.

Thing #3 - reading BloodKnot.

Stick that in your schema and smoke it.

The End.


-Alex who needs to clean his bathroom but did all these things instead.

Top 10?

Awesome!



Due to our enjoyment of fishing, and drinking we have made the top ten best fly fishing websites for the fellas at The Daily Hunt and Fish.

As they say,
"Their fat, their fun, their a bit crude, and they love to fish. This is what blogging is all about. A few buddies not only documenting their fishing adventures but also giving us a glimpse into their strange but real life. WARNING this website is not for everybody. I will not pull up this site up with my seven year old next to me. It is a true blog you never know what they will post next."

For me I would like to note some our special talents,
Alex, amazing with the camera, video making, most of the stuff on here, dedication to catch the fish, the only one of us that is fully literate, and putting up with Kyle's shit.

Aaron, Knowing where and when to fish, ability to drink "copious" amounts of booze, producing amazing yet horribly disturbing body smells, and putting up with Kyle's shit.

And for myself, I am always ready to put my body through a new experiment for research or just for the hell of it.

And to the Fellas at Daily Hunt and Fish, thank you for helping up spread the word!