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.

Finding Nemo.... in your toilet.

In celebration of the birth of the Brownline Nation, Aaron and I went to a urban pond in search of roughfish. Aaron found this little guy, then we went to a bar where I got cheese-drunk on chili fries.

There are big grass carp and catfish in that lake, but I have been unsuccessful in hooking one so don't give me no lip if you see me spraying liquid ass on my nymphs in the future.

The Brownline Nation

A new day has dawned, and there is ass-kicking afoot. FGFF is a proud member of the Brownline Nation.

The eight united Nations of Brown

Adrienne Comeau - Spey Angel
April Vokey - Flygal
Alex Landeen - Fat Guy Fly Fishing
Hannah Belford - FLYFishergirl
Jean-Paul Lipton - the roughfisher
k8 Taylor - Rogue Angel
Keith Barton - Singlebarbed
Pete McDonald - Fishing Jones

Check it out.

FGFF in the Wall Street Journal.

Brownlining got a little journalistic recognition today on the front page of the Wall Street Journal.

FGFF's own Kyle Deneen, Tom Teasdale, TU, JPL, Michael Gracie and Kieth Barton got some love in Justin Schecks article revolving around these large fish who live in that dirty, dirty water.

Here, the fish are big. The strikes are frequent. And other anglers are kept at bay by the occasional bobbing diaper.

After driving 2 hours to fish with these guys, Kyle's linguistic eloquence was reduced to "I wanted to fish for carp." Good job dude, keeping it simple. Just kidding, you know I love you Kyle. If you watch the video, you can see him in the background as he is the only person I know with orange waders.



Anyways, I think this kicks super loads of ass for Brownlining in general, and all those mentioned. Especially us, because you can't deny the kick-ass.

Very Nice!

Arivaca Recap: more bitch-slap than ass beating.

It's same old story, with a twist ending. Yes we had an empty 6-pack, yes we smelled funky, but dammit this time we caught some fish. It wasn't the Fedor Emelianenko ass beating I had hoped for, but I still consider it a success.

I spent the first fishless hour and a half writing a post in my head about how we suck, and thinking of how drunk I was going to get when I came home without fishporn, again. When I found this fat bitch hanging out in the weeds, I promptly changed my tune and hid my boner.

Aaron pulled this one out from the thick stuff. Happy happy joy joy mf'er!

The ol' Orange PoonToon.

This is the fly who dunnit. Aaron and I tied a few on and up Sunday night.

The slime was still there, but not as bad and most of it had blown to the other side of the lake. Last week we had a little cold front come through, and it looks like the warmth is back, so I would bet the fishing will be going off in the next 2 weeks. I should be able to get back next week sometime. Holla!

-Alex

Body Hair

So I was looking at my own Blogger profile, yes I am that pathetic. I noticed I was born the year of the monkey. That explains a bunch. All this time i thought I was a product of the baboon cage at the zoo due to my mass amounts of body hair and a bald ass. But i guess people born in 1980 are just flat out primates.

someone shave me

I am sure Aaron and Alex have a much better story to tell you, i am just really bored and can not sleep.

Going back to Arivaca, all out of bubblegum.

Arivaca is a bass lake, and a very dirty girl. Aaron and I were there a couple weeks ago during the algae bloom and didn't do too well. Monday we are going back, and we're all out of bubblegum.

You probably don't want to know what this is.

New plan: Pound bank with Enrico Bluegill on sinking line, tip in the water, slow strip. Repeat.

In the past, Arivaca has been known to leave me with nothing but an empty 6-pack and funny smell, but I think its about time time to show this bitch who wears the waders around here.

Got that nasty stomach flu? Time for some wet wading.

I was lying in bed this morning, and I knew there was something wrong. There was a quiet whisper in the nether regions of trouble, the air thick with anticipation of revolution. But I was still tired, half asleep, and didn’t heed the warning.

I felt a fart brewing and in my sleepdrunk state I rolled over, gambled a 50/50, and lost. The day has gone downhill from there.

I don’t have a laptop, and every second I stay out of the bathroom the danger grows. I am mainlining pepto, and snorting tums in an attempt to remain free from the water closet clutches just long enough to finish this thought.

I wish I lived near a river.

-Alex who's bedside hydration unit is working overtime.

"The Toast" Prints Now Available!

Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, children of all ages, it has arrived.

"The Toast" 20x30 print.

I know you have a lonely wall somewhere in your house; give it a friend.

Available in 10" x 15", 12" x 18", 16" x 24", 20" x 30" with various framing and mounting options.

Click here to get your own!

-Alex

HOOK Flyfishing

HOOK Flyfishing is a shop located in the Denver area, are some good guys with a cool site, and new friends of FGFF. Take a peek.

Due to the comments about Tred Barta

I see many of you think this guy is blasphemy to the fly fishing world. I would have to agree. I have googled the guy to see what others in the world think. It turns out friends we are not alone. So many blogs and pages dedicated to the "Tred Barta is a Jerk" topic. And now it makes me wonder how this guy has a TV show..... why the hell don't the Fat Guys have a TV show? We may not be nearly as good as him, or many of you who read the blog, on catching fish, yet I assure you if the three of us had our own show, it would be pure entertainment.
Oh and we don't have our heads stuck up our ass!

I could see it now