hard work

Sometimes you get up early and work hard.
Sometimes you put pants on and boots on and sweat and get serious and move with conviction.
Sometimes you do important things; things that matter to others and need to be done.

And sometimes you float around the lake smoking fat cigars and getting nipple-tan while sticking hungry LMB on frogs.

-Alex who likes those times the best.

PS the pimp-my-net net has now had its cherry popped and smells of sweet stank.

C'mon lefty, make yourself useful.

-Alex who wonders if it is strange to throw big deer-hair bass bugs with a two-hander...?

Nah.

pans on glass

Hey.
Slow down, speedracer. That is not one of those hot-shot rocket-launchers you kids throw these days. Understand? Take your time. There is no reason to rush things. The power comes through grace, my boy.

-Alex who occasionally likes it wiggly.

handoff

Shit happens when you rock a frog shirtless at the 'Vaca.

-Alex who got a buncha tan on one side of his hairy back and not the other and thinks the sun should pay more attention to what it's doing next time, geez.

'bout damn time

I rolled into the deserted parking lot at 2:05PM, the lesbians long gone. The sun, aware of my return, had run away to hide behind the thick, daunting thunderheads. Within five minutes of my first oar stroke the deluge began.

The wind screamed at the water and powerful rain beat dirt to mud as lightening raped the canyon. The fat drops which found their mark slid harmlessly off gortex. I had come prepared for this fight, ready to wait it out and let the heavy puncher wear itself down.

After thirty-five minutes I emerged from cover with a perfection-looped frog and my game face on as the sky lowered and a medium precipitation set in for the full twelve rounds, but this time the final bell would sound the victory of the perpetual underdog.

Today, I would find, the slimy bastards were hungry. Very hungry.

'Bout damn time.

This fish jumped a foot and a half above the surface to eat my frog, which was stuck in some tules. Thanks for the assist, (and for Maxima 20lb fluorocarbon).

It's amazing the difference a little raise in water level can engender.

-Alex who loves him some rain-soaked hot frog-on-lip slammin' topwater LMB action.

light the fuse and toss that bitch in!

Like a Elk in rut, the bass fly fisherman eyes go bloodshot as he pisses all over himself at the thought of the LMB quarter-stick-of-dynamite-in-the-school-toilet explosion. It's enough to give even the part-time fisherman a semi, and it is all the more sweet victory when the water level is too low to launch your bass tracker, you suckers.

I like foam.

This frog has a very dirty name. In Latin I believe it roughly translates to the 'puniceus sperma inflatio'.

Gatta throw some deer hair bugs, too.

Trimming the deer hair with a razor and not accidentally cutting the wings off is ideal.

The last tie Mr. Leed and I were out, I ninja'd a big bastard dragon fly out of the air with my 10wt (actually it was Leeds rod, but you probably don't care) for a closer inspection. The bass seem to have a hard-on for these things on occasion, so I figured I should tie a couple. I have yet to find the perfect wing material, so I guess Swiss straw will have to do for now.

For the abdomen I took to thin strips of 2mm foam and glued them together with a piece of 40lb mono between them, leaving enough sticking out to tie on the hook. Then I made the segments by wrapping with white thread. I colored it with a sharpie, and then coated it in 5-min nail glue. It was a little work, but you can bet that bitch ain't coming off or breaking apart if Mr. Bass decides to partake.

-Alex covered in urine with bloodshot eyes who has a test-and-tune scheduled for Monday.

Greedy

'Vaca Frogs with Mr. Leed.... It's almost on:

Leed's 10wt of Doom

Greedy

Sexy Bitch

That's a fish

Yeah.

White Mountains: Most of the time the it felt like this...

Get up real early and eat a massive egg, steak, cheese and salsa burrito to get the bowels all randy. Load up the truck, strap the pontoon to the back and walk back inside to take a massive wall-expanding buttery dump that will inevitably lead to itchy-b-hole 20 minutes later.

Gather rods, put on your waders and boots and back your truck out into the street. Take the pontoon boat off the truck and set it in the middle of the road. Put on fins, and rig rods, place yourself on the seat and proceed to punch yourself in the face continuously for 2 hours while a buddy sprays you with the hose.

Put boat back on truck, unrig rods, take waders off, scratch itchy b-hole, drive truck back into garage and start drinking and bitching and wondering why you didn't catch any fish.

I might have taken something to ease the pain....

Most of the time it felt like that.... But not sightfishing with ants on Christmas Tree...like a god damn cornucopia of awesomeness...

Many Apache trout.

Super ultra short report version brought to you by Captain Morgan 100 proof. More to come... probably.

Top-Water Bass - This post goes to eleven.

In the last week of August, one can get the first sense of summer’s oppressive heat losing its sweaty grip on the desert. Sure, it is still ball-sizzling hot but a little breeze here or a cooler-than-normal evening is enough to give hope. Two hours south and a few feet higher you can step out of the truck into a noisy afternoon sun at Arivaca Lake and feel the change. The lake is low, the weeds are slimy and the bass are agitated.

Violence of Action

You remember that angry little short-haired blond kid from middle school that always punched everyone? His step-dad was an auto mechanic or a construction worker, and his mom smoked like a pack a day and watched Court TV? In my opinion, largemouth bass with their constant scowl and tough skin are like that kid. Just plain mad at the world.

“I don’t give a damn that it’s bigger than my head,” he says to himself. “I am totally going to eat the crap out of whatever the hell that thing is 'cause it's pissin' me off!”

Sometimes you feel like using your hemos to tie tiny midges to 8X tippet, and then sometimes you just want to tie half a deer carcass to a 20lb leader and make Neanderthal noises while you swing your 8wt around like some sex-nuts-retard-strong barbarian.

This kind of behavior also helps keep those damn I'm-not-here-to-fish-I-just-want-to-row-my-canoe-through-your-cast people out of your way.

Dog Will Hunt

The other day before a trip to Arivaca, I met with my friend Mike Leed Jr., and he gave me a tube fly frog to try out. After throwing it for a few minutes, I nicknamed it “the shoe”, (that Aaron hand-modeled for us in the image here) cause that’s what it felt like on the end of my 320 grain Sage Bass line. A big wet shoe. But with that 1/0 Gamakatsu Octopus hook shoved up its rear point-up it walked across the weeds with authority. I threw that damn thing all day, and all I got was a sore shoulder. I blame something else.

There are those that tie flies, and then there are those who tie flies, and my friend Mr. Leed Jr. falls into the latter category. He is a fishing madman, and he can tie the crap out of just about anything you might need, or he will instruct you in tying it yourself if you are so inclined. Recently at the local shop, he had a class on tying the grass frogs he loves to dearly. I attended and took part in the hour-long process of creating such a masterpiece. (Mike says it takes him 30min when not showing all us tards how its done)

Under his expert tutelage, I tied the below sum-bitch. He looked at it and nodded, “That dog will hunt.”

It is so on.

The Goods.

-Alex who knows that you can't just make ten louder.